


Momma's Little Girl

by beatle9



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 124,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatle9/pseuds/beatle9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In late September 1968, rock photographer and single mother Linda Eastman went to stay with Paul McCartney at his London home. Though she fell in love with Paul, she missed her five year old daughter, Heather, terribly. Linda invited Paul to return to New York with her, not only for a vacation but also to introduce him to Heather. </p>
<p>But how do you introduce one of the most famous men in the world to a five year old? And how do you hide him in plain sight among four million people?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Linda Eastman exited the elevator, exhausted, sweaty and thankful to be home after running errands on such a hot and humid late August day in New York City.  Heather, her five and a half year old daughter, had already run down the hall and was patiently waiting for her to open the door.  Linda had gotten used to walking and taking public transportation to run errands, but today was one of those days during which everything was an effort.  The heat made her feel like she expended much more energy than normal; it had even given her a slight headache.  And, she still had to go to work; she had to photograph The Animals in concert at the Fillmore East, the venue where she took most of her pictures.  Though she loved her job and would be among friends, she already anticipated going to sleep.

As soon as she walked into the apartment, she felt the unwelcome rush of hot air.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the oasis that was her peach, white and khaki striped, faded love seat.  How she longed to sit down.  She knew, however, that if she did, she would most surely not want to get up.  And she had to call her messaging service to see if anyone called.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” said Heather.

“How about some cookies and milk?” Linda suggested as she yawned.

Heather agreed, going to her makeshift room to find her coloring book and crayons while she waited.  She found her crayons but not her coloring book.  ‘Where could it be?’ she wondered.  By the time she had reached the bottom of her milk crate toy chest, a fire truck, a plastic doll, her tiger costume, a large green bouncy ball, wooden blocks and a puzzle box had been strewn across the floor.  No luck.  “Mommy, I can’t find my coloring book!” she yelled.

“Look under your bed,” Linda yelled back as she readied Heather’s snack.

Heather took her mother’s advice.  There, against the wall and under her cot was, not only her coloring book but also Kitty, her orange tabby cat with white fur on his paws, around his mouth and on his front chest.  Kitty was much more than just her favorite stuffed animal—he was one of her best friends.  How could her mother have known where her coloring book and Kitty was?  She knew that she would have to crawl under the bed to rescue him.  Heather got on her stomach, wrinkling her green t-shirt, to retrieve her best friend and coloring book.  It was hot under there, but the job needed to be done.  Stretching her right arm, she reached for and successfully rescued him from the dark corner.

Heather hugged Kitty tightly in her arms and gave him a kiss on his right cheek.  “I’m sorry, Kitty.  Are you ok?  Were you scared?” she said, full of concern.  She was thankful that he was rescued after being stuck all alone for so long in such a dark space.  When Kitty told her that he was frightened, she continued to hug him while scratching behind his ears.

Linda found Heather on the floor, clutching Kitty beside her chin-length dirty blonde hair.  “Are you ok, Heather?” she asked.

“Mommy, Kitty was behind the bed the whole day!  He was so scared under there!  I just rescued him,” she told her mother.

“Ohhh, well I’m glad you did,” she played along.  “How’s he doing?”

Heather informed her mother that, “he’s better but he’s still a little scared.”

“I’m sure he’ll be ok,” Linda reassured.  “Want to go eat?”

Heather and Kitty sat on the living room floor as her mother placed the peach slices, three Oreos and tall glass of milk on the small, square mahogany coffee table in front of her.  “What do you say?” Linda prompted.

“Thank you,” replied Heather.

“You’re welcome.  I have to make a quick phone call and then I’ll come sit with you for a little bit.”

“Ok,” Heather said through a mouthful of cookies.  Linda reminded her daughter to not talk with her mouth full, then walked back into the kitchen and promptly lifted the phone from the receiver.

“Big Apple Messaging Service, this is Gloria,” Linda heard the woman answer in a South Carolinian drawl.  Before Gloria said her name, she knew it was her.  Gloria had lived in Harlem since she moved to the city in her 30s with her husband.  In the 20 years that she had lived in the city, she had never outgrown her accent.

“Hi, Gloria, it’s Linda Eastman,” Linda replied.

“Miss Linda!  You have a message!” Gloria exclaimed.  She was always happy to hear from Linda.  Linda was always very friendly and always treated her with respect, which was more than she could say for some other customers; even in a city as diverse as New York, much prejudice still existed.

“You have an elephant’s memory, Gloria,” marveled Linda.  “You didn’t even have to put me on hold!”

“Honey, this is one message **_no one_ ** would forget!  It’s from Mr. _Paul McCartney_.”

Linda beamed.  Her heart skipped a beat at the drop of his name and soon began to race.  She hadn’t heard from Paul since their “Dirty Weekend” in June at the Beverly Hills Hotel.  Though she was disappointed, she wasn’t surprised; Paul was a _Beatle_ , after all.  Since that weekend three months ago, she had thought about him whenever she heard his name, which, in the circles she ran, was frequently.  Her memories of their conversations and the sex brought a girlish smile to her face; in the span of her romantic life, other men or rock stars she had dated or had sex were not even in the same league.  There was something else that she couldn’t put her finger on about Paul.  The time they spent together was, for lack of a better word, right.

“Miss Linda?  Miss Linda, honey?  Ya still there?” repeated Gloria as she brought Linda out of her daydream.

“Oh, sorry, Gloria.  I just, um, got a little distracted,” she sheepishly replied.

“Uh-huh,” Gloria said.  Her skepticism made Linda smile with embarrassment.  “Well, honey, he said he wants you ta call him.  Do ya have a pen handy so I can give ya the number?  He says it’s his home number.”

Linda grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the corner of the white Formica countertop.  “I’m ready,” she said with a quiver in her voice.  Her right hand shook as she held the pen.

“Mommy, look!” exclaimed Heather as she ran into the kitchenette.  She wanted her mother to see the progress she had made on her snack.  Linda put her index finger to her lips, reminding her daughter to be quiet.

“Sorry, Gloria.  What’s the number?”  As she read the number, Linda copied it down, then repeated what she had written.  Gloria confirmed that she had written the number down correctly.  “He called at 11:16 am,” she said.

Linda looked at the clock—that was five hours ago.  She just missed him, as she had left the apartment a few minutes earlier.  “Any other messages?” she asked, staring at the number she had written, half in disbelief.

“That was the only one, but what a one to have!  So, Linda, how’s Little Miss Heather?”

Linda made it through the fog that had just settled on her mind.  “She’s good.  We just got home from running errands.”

“How old is she now?  Four?”

“Five and a half.  She’ll be six in December.  I can’t believe it,” she smiled as she stretched the phone cord, watching her daughter coloring in the living room.

“Whoo-boy, how time flies!”

“It really does,” Linda agreed.

“Alright, honey.  I best be gettin’ back to work.  Tell Little Miss Heather I said ‘hello’.  Y’all take care now.”

“You too.  Thanks for the message.  Bye, Gloria,” Linda said then hung up the phone and sat, distracted, with Heather.  She wondered why Paul had called so suddenly. Looking at the clock, she wondered if she had enough time to call him before she had to leave for the show at the Fillmore East tonight.  Danny would certainly have something to say about this, too.  Heather interrupted Linda’s musings as she showed her the horse that she had neatly colored in her book.

“Look how nicely you colored that horse,” praised Linda.  “Gloria asked for you.  She says ‘hi’.”

“Hi, Gloria,” Heather said as she colored the grass around the horse.

“I’ll tell her you said ‘hi’ the next time I talk to her.”  Her motherly instinct kicked in when she saw that Heather still had half of her milk to drink, encouraging her to finish it.  Heather whined; she wanted more cookies with the rest of her milk.  Linda didn’t budge, telling her that three cookies were enough for today.

As Linda sat on the love seat to ensure that Heather finished her milk, she tried to think of a way to rearrange her schedule so she could speak to Paul.  She quickly came to the unfortunate conclusion that she did not have time to call him; in the course of an hour and a half, she had to take a shower, get dressed, ready her camera, make a salad for the babysitter and make Heather’s dinner.

A frenzied two hours, Linda greeted Mrs. Diana Finch, the babysitter, and kissed Heather goodbye.  With no time to wait for the elevator, she hurried down the stairs to catch the bus to the Fillmore East.  The ride was filled with thoughts, mostly of Paul.


	2. Chapter 2

“Half eight”, Paul thought as he looked at the watch on his right wrist. He was as anxious to leave the studio as a student waiting for that last school bell of the year. All he wanted was to return to his home where Marha, his Olde English Sheepdog, would be faithfully waiting with enthusiastic kisses.

Those, however, were not the kind of kisses he wanted. The kind he longed for were from a beautiful, friendly, empathetic, funny, talented and intelligent woman.

Linda.

Instead, he was here recording “Back In The USSR” with John and Ringo, two of his three closest friends…well, according to Beatles fans. Of late, it seemed like there had been an increasing number of arguments and rivalries. Their trip to India had relaxed their minds and provided much-needed relief from their real-world pressures of being fabulous Beatles. In the ashram, they had a creative reawakening; John, Paul and, even, George came back with stacks of completed songs and song ideas.

While their creative spirit had endured these past few months, the feeling of peace and togetherness that they left India with had not. This time, they mostly chose to work alone on their songs. When they did, the mood was always tense, their conversations strained.

Sexually (and emotionally), his needs were not being satisfied. Over the past few weeks, he had apathetic sex with Francie Schwartz, the nightmare he just kicked out of his house. As her stay extended, she grew more demanding and greedy. The last few times they did try, he could not even get hard.

‘At least there’s some coke left in the tin by my bed,’ he thought. Martha would, faithfully, sit next to him as he snorted the substance that could take him away from this harsh reality for a few hours. Maybe it would also dull the ache his heart had for Linda. His heart longed for happier times, like the weekend they spent together in the Beverly Hills Hotel in June.

“Paul, let’s try another take,” he distantly heard the Beatles’ longtime producer, George Martin, say over the talkback microphone from the engineering booth. “Paul?...Paul?”

“Hey, he’s talking to you, Macca!” John Lennon yelled.

“Oh, sorry,” Paul dazedly replied. “What’d he ask?”

“If you wanted to do another take.” Taking on an older male voice, John mocked “Paul does very well in his studies but has his head in the clouds.” He then went back to noodling on his guitar. In his own voice, he added “nice tent.”

Paul shook his head ‘no’. “Not yet, George,” he said. “I want to get the cymbal fill right.”

“Christ,” Ringo muttered.

“Never knew you were a praying man, Ringo,” John snidely remarked.

“Come on,” Paul said, shrugging off John’s inane comment. “We’ve been at this for too long, Ringo. It’s got to sound more even. You’re not playing it evenly enough.”

Clenching his jaw, Ringo played the cymbal fill. Again. Quickly, after grabbing the cymbals to silence them, he averted Paul’s gaze. Based on the pattern of the afternoon, the next words out of his mouth would, surely, be some sort of criticism. If there was a clock on the wall in the studio, the second hand would have been moving backwards. Ringo just wanted to go home and play with little four year-old Zak.

Paul heaved a heavy sigh. “Give me the sticks and I’ll show you,” he demanded. Practically breathing down Ringo’s neck, he pushed him off the drum kit to demonstrate. “you didn’t hit it hard enough. You should give it more attack and more gradual sustain. Not too much, you know. I want it to sound like The Beach Boys.”

“I’ve been doing that! I’ve been doing EVERYTHING you bloody asked for.”

“No, you haven’t. I’ve heard it, Ringo. You haven’t been playing it that way. When you get it right, I’ll hear it!”

Ringo saw John roll his eyes. “Don’t tell me how to play me drums!”

“I just want it right. That’s not a lot to ask. It’s my song!”

That comment pushed Ringo over the edge. “It’s your song? It’s your song, is it?!”

Paul crossed his arms “I’m the one who wrote it.”

“I’m tired of this shit, Paul. For most of this goddamned album, I’ve done nothing but become a fucking brilliant chess player. I’m a part of this band, not just your fucking session drummer! I’m tired of waiting three bloody days to play and, when I do, you telling me how to do it! I’ve had enough of your bullshit—you can play that fill yourself. You know the way you want it so YOU bloody play it. I’m done. I quit.” Throwing his drum sticks on the ground, Ringo slammed the studio door behind him.

“Now you’ve done it,” commented John as he removed his guitar from his person.

Reality set in as John offered his insult to Ringo’s words. The Beatles had just lost their drummer.

His heart cloaked in a mix of anger, hurt, confusion and panic, Paul ascended the stairs to the roof. He needed time to plot his next decisions. 

 

Linda awoke, refreshed, at about ten the next day. As soon as she realized it was a new day, her heart skipped with excitement in anticipation of her call to Paul. Much as she loved Heather, she couldn’t wait for her to leave for Washington Square Park with her friend Angela and Angela’s mother.

Heather was still fast asleep with Kitty on her cot in the living room, giving Linda time to do her bathroom routine. Linda then began the almost daily task of dragging her daughter out of bed. Though this generally worked to her advantage when she was a new mother, over time, it became a hassle and, sometimes, a chore. Heather was a talented sleeper and a terrible eater. If given the choice between eating and sleeping, Heather would almost always choose the latter.

Normally, during this time of year, she wouldn’t have to choose but Heather had a play date. Fortunately, this time, she was easily awoken. Linda got her out of bed, helped her brush her teeth, made her breakfast, got her dressed and even managed to squeeze in a reading lesson before she took her daughter downstairs to meet Angela at noon.

Linda impatiently waited for the elevator upstairs, allotting herself as much time as possible to chat with Paul. Once at her apartment door, she quickly headed to the kitchenette and picked up the phone. Linda stood there so long that the noise emitting from the phone told her to hang it up.

After putting the phone back in its cradle, Linda went to roll herself a cigarette. Hearing the phone ring, her heart skipped a beat. ‘Could Paul have known?’ she wondered.

“Hello?”

“Hi Linda,” a familiar voice said.

“Oh, Danny! It’s you.”

“Expecting Mick Jagger?” he smiled.

Linda nervously laughed.

Since Linda had met Danny Fields more than two years ago when he was still a reporter at “Datebook Magazine”. They were amongst the many reporters who were invited to The Rolling Stones’ press conference for their new album, Aftermath. Well, to be accurate, Danny was a reporter; Linda wasn’t. She worked as a secretary at “Town & Country”, a job that she despised but needed, financially speaking; one of her many menial tasks was to open the nameless mail addressed to the magazine. As Keith Richards and Brian Jones had just done a spread, someone from their management felt obligated to extend an invitation to the magazine; though, in reality, it was because Brian wanted to see the magazine’s boss’ daughter again.

If the invitation had been addressed to the rest of the stuffy, artificial people who worked at the magazine, it would have immediately gone in the trash; outwardly, they all acted outraged that the band that stood for uncouth manners and rebellion appeared on the cover of their cultured, sophisticated magazine; privately, they let it slide because the issue would sell. The only other person who shared Linda’s excitement was Christina Berlin, the daughter of Richard Berlin, who ran the Hearst publishing empire. Like Linda, she grew up in affluence. Unlike her, however, she enjoyed the trappings of wealth. What they shared was not only their love of music but also their desire to rebel against their blue blood parents.

Being the boss’ daughter had its advantages, like being the only teenager in the VIP press room at the airport when the Beatles arrived in New York. Unlike every other teenager, she behaved maturely. That maturity won her the chance to be among the Hearst entourage that greeted The Rolling Stones the first time they arrived in New York City. When Mick asked who the young brunette was, Andrew Loog Oldham, the Stones’ manager, replied “she’s someone to remember.”

A rowdy bunch, by 1966, The Stones had been banned from every New York City hotel. So they were staying on the only place that would have them—the S. S. Sea Panther, docked at the 79th Street Boat Basin.

The management, however, did not have the foresight to realize that so many people would want to attend the party on their tiny boat. Their solution was to let no one onto the boat, effectively rescinding their invitation. Linda, however, was not satisfied with that answer—she wanted to take those pictures. The Stones’ manager kept insisting that the boat was closed to the press.

Hearing the commotion from the deck above, a tightly clothed Mick Jagger emerged—he was rather enjoying their verbal sparring match. Seeing that the person who was arguing was young, blonde and, unlike so many women in the 60s, curvaceous and busty, he insisted that she come aboard; the fact that she was so unfashionably dressed mattered not. Christina accompanying her was a pleasant surprise.

Once on board, Mick starting chatting her up; there wasn’t any need to introduce himself, as everyone knew who he was. In between the all Stones flirting with her, Linda took her world-exclusive pictures. While Mick was the star, Brian Jones was her favorite because of his funny mannerisms. She didn’t mind the attention at all; it had been a few weeks since she had any adult fun. With three year-old Heather at home, being a mother had priority.

Meanwhile, back at the dock, the pressure mounted in Danny’s chest—as a new reporter at “Datebook”, fumbling this assignment meant getting fired. His job on the line, the best chance he had was to ambush the photographer that got on the boat.

As Danny waited, the warm, humid summer air felt cold as the breeze reflected off the water. Nervous, all Danny could concentrate on was the heavy air. His body refocused on the cool air as soon as he saw Christina, the youngest sister of his close friend Brigid; accompanying her was a young, sharply dressed woman holding a Pentax. Getting the niceties out of the way, Danny was blunt—he wanted her pictures. Linda told him that another teen magazine, “Hullabaloo”, had first pick. But she assured him that he could get whatever they didn’t want. Danny not only gained the pictures he needed to save his job, but also a close friend.

“How are you, Danny?”

“Good,” he yawned.

Sliding down the wall, Linda sat on the chilly kitchen floor. “How’s your day been?” she asked, munching on a Ritz cracker.

“It just began,” Danny yawned. “So far, so good.”

“Cavorting with the boys again?”

“Yes, mother. You’ll be happy to know that I drank responsibly last night, though,” he said, itching the top of his head with his left hand.

Linda chuckled, “ok, ok. I won’t pry about your love life.”

Danny, instead, mentioned that he had bumped into Lillian last night at a show at a local coffee club. She said she was going stir-crazy from being inside working on her rock encyclopedia all day.

“I’ll have to call her later to ask how that’s coming. She’s been working so hard on it. I have to call her anyway just to catch up.”

Lillian Roxon, an Australian rock journalist, was Linda’s closest female friend. It was a foregone conclusion that, every time one called the other, the conversation could, easily, last an hour.

Naturally, gossip worked its way into the conversation, as Lillian was a journalist. That, however, was her only vice—she neither smoke nor drank, a complete anomaly.

“Heard from Paul lately?”

Linda’s heart skipped a beat. The mere mention of his name caused her to beam uncontrollably.

“Mmm, no. I haven’t,” Linda lied.

Danny could tell that Linda was not being completely forthcoming with information; he could hear her smile when she answered. “I thought you’d be more upset,” Danny commented, trying to play along. “Did you try calling him?”

“No.”

“That’s not a very ‘Linda’ response.” His comment caused Linda to give a mild chuckle. “Why haven’t you tried? He’s a Beatle!”

“Exactly.”

“Beatles still have phones and mailboxes. Beatles still get telegrams.”

“True,” she agreed, pulling another cracker out of the box.

Danny dropped the subject, knowing that Linda was being cagier than normal about it. “How’s Heather doing?”

“She’s great. She went out with Angela and her mom for the day. They’re going to walk around the city and play in the park. I can’t believe she starts school soon. If I had my choice, she wouldn’t be going to Dalton.”

“Dalton’s a good school. I hate to admit it, Linda, but your dad is right about this one.”

“It’s not a question of being right, Danny,” Linda argued. Standing up, she continued, “it’s that where you go to school doesn’t matter—it’s your heart that matters. It’s your values that matter—kindness, honesty, sincerity, empathy. I don’t want Heather to grow up in an environment like that. I don’t want her to value what the kids who go to that school value. My mom was all about keeping up with the Jonses, which I always thought was a load of bullshit. It’s hand-to-mouth living right now but Heather is happy and being raised right. I don’t want Heather to grow up like I did.”

Danny turned on his hot water kettle. While he knew that having the financial security Linda had as a child would be a good thing, he chose to gloss over that fact. “You’re the one raising Heather, not your father.”

Linda sighed, air slowly going through her nose. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Heather’s not like that, though, Linda, because that’s not your style. She gives me a hug from her every time I come over. I remember I was getting over a bad cold once,” Danny said, stirring his coffee. “She wouldn’t let me leave until she gave me a check up with the instruments in her doctor’s bag. If you have any doubts, well…that says it all.”

A smile forced its way onto Linda’s face. “I remember that—she asked me for some cookies to make you feel better.”

“It worked. I don’t know anyone who would refuse a cookie.”

Linda laughed to herself. “Thank you, Danny. I appreciate you listening.”

“Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” While fidgeting with the phone cord, she distractedly asked “what’ve you got planned today?”

“I’m supposed to have a phone interview with Simon and Garfunkel later. They just performed at the Hollywood Bowl. What about you?” Pressing the lever on the toaster, the two slices of bread slipped into their miniature tanning booth.

Mindlessly, Linda continued to wrap and unwrap phone cord around her index finger.

“Linda?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I don’t know…Heather’s out with Angela so I’ve…I’ve got the day free.”

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Danny.” He then asked Linda if she was excited to go to Los Angeles on Saturday. The question only made her daydream of Paul again.

“Linda?”

“Oh…sorry, Danny. Saturday? Yeah, that sounds good.”

Danny stirred his coffee, a tad annoyed. “Linda, we’re going to L.A. on Saturday. I’m interviewing Aretha and Judy Collins and you’re taking the photos. Remember?”

As Danny’s toaster dinged, she replied, “yeah, I remember. That’ll be nice. You said you were going to come over and we’d go to the airport together, right?”

“Yeah. I forget what time the flight is.”

Taking a swing of coffee, he said “me too. I’ll come over maybe about two and a half hours before we’re supposed to leave.”

“I wish I could but I can’t. Datebook wants this article on rush.”

“Good luck, Danny. I know you’ll pull it off.”

“Thanks, Linda. I gotta go get ready for my interview but I’ll see you on Saturday. Maybe I’ll stop over before.”

“Ok, bye, Danny.”

Linda put the phone back in its cradle. She stared at it through her squinting eyes.

Reaching for the phone, she suddenly stopped. She had not even dialed yet, her heart pounded furiously.

‘Not yet,’ she told herself. Carrying herself to her bedroom quickly, she realized that, after her smoke, she needed to call. Time was of the essence, especially for her if she wanted the conversation to be leisurely.


	3. Chapter 3

After looking through her dresser, she returned to the kitchen with a joint in hand. Her back against the wall, she stood beside the phone deep in though about nothing in particular as she inhaled. Linda stared at the burnt yellow wallpaper until her vision became blurry. Her realization that she was daydreaming ended, what seemed to be, a pause in time. The apartment’s silence dawned on her—it felt lonely without Heather.

‘Just call’ Linda told herself. Her right hand slightly trembled as she dialed ‘0’. She read Paul’s number to the operator and soon heard a pulsated ring, indicating that she had been directed overseas. In her semi-intoxicated state, her heart pounded as the phone rang four times…five times…

Suddenly, the ringing stopped. “Hello?” asked Paul. Annoyed, he took a long drag from his cigarette. These days, he seemed increasingly irritated and confused at the band’s lack of comradery, especially after having gotten along so well in India. Usually, when he came home from the studio, it was with a heavy heart. He, John, George and Ringo had matured like brothers, slept on top of one another for warmth, chipped in for prellies together when they needed the money in Hamburg. It seemed increasingly unlikely that it was just a phase. For the first time in the band’s existence, going to work felt like a chore instead of a joy. Often, after he got home, he would lie on his bed and cry. Rum and marijuana aided in repressing his doleful feelings.

“Hello?” he asked again, this time more angrily.

“Hi Paul, I got your message,” she spoke. Though Linda was quite experienced at dating some of the most famous men in the world—Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Warren Beatty—she had butterflies in her stomach and her heart.

Paul’s pout turned into a grin as his heart leapt. ‘Linda’, he thought as he closed his eyes with joy. Her American accent had such an inviting and sunny tone. Laying down on the bed again, he said, in his Liverpool lilt, “hello, love. I’m glad you got my message.” Turning on the charm he added, “it’s nice to hear from you, Lin.” Paul savored the tobacco and took another drag to calm his nerves. “How’ve you been, love?”

Linda bent at the knees with excitement, trying to muffle her giggling. His voice was calmly charming with a hint of rugged gruffness from cigarette smoke. How could just one person’s voice in her ear send her entire body into a frenzy?

“I’ve been…good. I’m still taking a lot of photographs. I get to go to concerts. Such a scene! I just took some of The Animals yesterday night at the Fillmore East,” she said, then giggled. Yesterday night was one of the few vestiges of the photography world she still enjoyed. Linda had just started the mission of interviewing agents to help her manage her growing workload. Currently, she had to manage her own jobs and deals. Now that she had the front cover of “Rolling Stone”, her phone was ringing off the hook. That was a double-edged sword—while it meant more money, it also meant that she would need an agent to help her manage her work. Every interview left her cold and discouraged—the business she loved had become too commercial. Before, it was just her and the artist at the photo shoot; now, PR men started to interfere. Linda was wondering what else she could take pictures of. She had thought about taking pictures of athletes but people told her that was worse than the music business.

“Do you think you got lots of great shots?”

“The film will tell me when I develop it tomorrow. Photos never lie, you know,” she told him in jest, then laughed. Hungry, she began to rummage through the pantry. “How’ve you been, Paul?”

Seeing that that cigarette had quickly reached its filter, he stamped it out in the ashtray beside his bed. “I’ve um…things have been good. Staying busy, y’know.” Nervous, Paul lit another.

Linda could tell that Paul was lying. “Sure?” she pressed.

“Yeah, I’m alright, love,” Paul said in his smooth, PR-man tone. He certainly didn’t want to talk about his problems. Even if Linda did care, crying on the phone to her from 3,000 miles away wouldn’t convince her to come visit him in London. He quickly changed the subject to Heather, who sounded positively adorable, then lit another cigarette.

A smile played on Linda’s lips. “She’s fab,” she blurted out. Paul laughed; realizing what she said, Linda burst out laughing. Her verbal misstep had broken the ice.

“What’s she doing?” Paul asked on the tail end of his laughter.

“She’s hanging loose with a friend in the park and enjoying her last few days of summer vacation before she starts elementary school.” Finding exactly what she wanted, she began crunching on a box of open granola.

“Lin? You still there? It sounds like static.”

Linda laughed. “It’s me. I’m eating granola. You wouldn’t believe how hungry I am.”

Paul grinned and started to chuckle. “Oh, I’d believe it, love. Once, when I got high alone in me house, I didn’t have any food left. Practically went mad ‘til I had the brilliant idea of going downstairs and asking the gatebirds for food. Least you’ve got food, you know.”

Linda giggled. “I have to. Otherwise, Heather doesn’t eat.”

Paul brought the conversation back to Linda’s sweet daughter. “Is elementary school like primary school?”

“Yeah. In America, you start elementary school when you’re six. Heather’s five and a half but she’ll be six in December.”

Paul carefully set his right hand down so as to not singe the sheets. “You have a birthday next month. How’re you going to celebrate, love?”

“I’m not sure,” Linda sighed, her let hand pushing her hair back. “I’ll probably be working. I might go out for a drink or something.”

Paul’s stomach was doing cartwheels as he told Linda the reason he called. “How’d you like to spend it in London? You can just show up. I’d love to see you.” His heart intensely pounded against his chest as he waited for Linda’s response. The burn of the cool cotton sheets against his fingers intensified faster than it dissipated. Paul was sure that Linda would say ‘yes’—he knew she enjoyed the “Dirty Weekend” as much as he did. He and Linda discussed everything from music to philosophy to art to their families. It never felt like a date but like two old friends catching up…in between lots of satisfying sex and toking. Plus, not many people said ‘no’ to a Beatle. Armed with such sound reasoning, Paul wondered why he was still nervous.

Linda thought she heard Paul ask her to stay with him in London. Her knee-jerk response was to say ‘yes’. But she couldn’t just uproot her and her daughter’s life in New York City to take a chance in London with Paul. What if it didn’t work out?

“Still there, Lin?”

She had fallen into a daydream again. Paul had a habit of making her do that. She righted herself and then spoke. “Yeah…um…well, how do I know you’ll be there? What if you just leave?”

“We’ll be recording this new album we’ve been working on for the past few months. The more time we spend on recording the less time we have for mixing and mastering.” ‘When we’re not having a row,’ thought Paul. His high from cloud nine began to plunge. “EMI wants it for the Christmas rush. They always do.”

“I’d really like to hear it.” She paused, then said “that was a lot of fun in the hotel in L.A. Just sitting and talking with you in the hotel about music, art, photography, our families, our childhoods…and then again on the boat cruise. That was really sweet, Paul. We just sat and talked and smoked…and snuggled…and had sex…” Linda stopped herself, knowing that saying any more about the Dirty Weekend would make her instantly say ‘yes’. Instead, she chose to go into business mode, a mode which felt unnatural. “Heather’s starting school the first week of September. And, before that, I have a photoshoot for Madamoiselle magazine in Los Angeles that I committed to. It’s, um…I’ll…I have to think.” Her heart sank as she finished her response.

Paul played it cool, masking that Linda’s answer trampled on his heart. “Well, alright. But really do think about it. I had a wonderful time with you as well, love. I’d love to have you stay with me in London, Lin. We could even do something special for your birthday.”

“I promise I’ll think,” she said with every intention to do so.

Fibbing that he had to go to the studio, Paul said goodbye to Linda.

Linda stood with the phone in a daze, her mind swimming with not only excitement but also responsibility.

“Goodbye, love. Happy birthday!” Paul said with all the charm he could muster. He desperately wanted to change Linda’s mind.

“Bye, Paul,” she said politely.

Paul heard the phone softly click. Linda’s comforting, friendly voice was gone. The hurt that started in his heart radiated to the rest of his body. He sat on his bed, feeling as disheveled as it was. What could he do to make Linda come to London? Overwhelmed with emotion and disappointment from the day, he began to cry.

One of Paul’s favorite characteristics about Linda—her confidence—had become a double-edged sword. He liked that she was a strong woman and respected her dedication to her daughter. Paul knew that making Linda choose between Heather and him was not only a losing battle, but also one he didn’t want to fight. He was devastated when his mum was cruelly taken away from him at only 14; he didn’t have the heart to callously take anyone else’s. ‘But why did she have to think about it?’ he selfishly thought. ‘She and Heather would come to London and stay with me. What’s there to think about?’

Hearing him crying, Martha, his black and white Old English sheepdog, rushed to Paul’s bedroom. She jumped onto the bed, turned herself in a circle and cuddled next to her master.

Martha’s wet kisses on his tear-stained face only made him feel worse. He pushed her off the bed to cry on his own. When his dark grey tabby cat, Thisbe, came, he did the same. If he was going to be miserable, he was going to do it alone. The louder he cried, the more his voice reverberated throughout the house and the more alone he felt. His yelps of misery soothed his anxiety.

Lately, Paul began feeling an urgency to settle down. He was 26 years old and wanted to start a family. Being a Beatle afforded him the opportunity to meet and sleep with hundreds of attractive women. He figured that, somewhere within all of those girls must have been someone truly special. Before drifting off to sleep, he would make a mental list of all those girls he liked…as people. Escaping to the past made allowed him to not think about his current problems. He and his three closest friends were doing more arguing than recording. And when he came home, it was to an empty, disheveled house. Paul longed for meaningful companionship.

Linda was the woman who he went back to time and again in his mind; she was kind, intelligent and attractive woman with a passion for photography and music. And now that he had mustered the emotional stability to ask her to stay with him, she wouldn’t even say ‘yes’.

He reached into his nightstand drawer, picking up his pillbox and a razor. Paul stared at the box, then put it back. He was in no mood to carefully snort every last gram that he lined out.

However much he enjoyed sex, he began to realize that it couldn’t compensate for someone’s personality (or lack thereof). Though, he hadn’t even wanted to have sex lately; and, sometimes, all he did was cry. He had evolved from a silly drunk into a sad, miserable one who told his problems to anyone who would bend their ear.

He had been crying all over England. The band’s once roadie and now general assistant, Mal Evans, had to drive him home from the studio a few weeks ago because he was crying so much. At the family reunion in Liverpool, one of his cousins was forced to call Francie. She had to drive up there because he was doing nothing but crying in the corner. She gave him more than a few choice words when she got there, which only made him cry harder. On the car ride back to London, he kept sobbing that his family only loved him because he was a Beatle and had money. The next morning, when she wanted to talk about it, he acted like nothing had happened.

Paul considered turning his worry to his benefit. He had money and could buy her something to force Linda to fly over. Nobody ever said ‘no’ to a Beatle…except Linda…but what could he send her?—flowers? They were a nice gesture, but not forceful or impressive enough. Jewelry? He could ask Mal to go buy something at a shop on the high street…but Linda didn’t go much for jewelry. Money? Yeah, that was it!...but how much? She certainly wasn’t a prostitute.

He let out an elongated sigh. Though he knew none of those things, or any material things, could make her say ‘yes’, he still momentarily considered it. If problems could have been solved with money, he and his ex-fiancee, Jane Asher, would be married with children. The gifts he lavished on her did not solve anything; they only masked the problems they had until he, along with the rest of Britain, heard that they were no longer engaged while watching her on telly. In the end, they had both hurt each other deeply. It also forced him to realize what he wanted most—a wife and children.

He rolled over on his left side, his face familiarly hot and tacky. Before Paul unstuck his upper eyelids from his lower ones, he could smell Martha approaching the bed. Paul felt the warmth of Thisbe’s body next to his chest. The cigarette served as more of a distracter than anything else. Thisbe quickly quashed this behavior, as she wanted his attention. As Paul pet her grey tabby fur, he quickly relaxed. His heart told him that Linda was the only person who could convince herself to visit. Until she said ‘yes’, all he could do was hope…and focus on the band’s problems.

 

After hanging up the receiver, Linda mentally reviewed what just happened. She still couldn’t believe that Paul had asked her to come to London to live with him. She missed him, but never let the feeling become too intense because of who he was—a rock star playboy who was the apple of every teenage girl’s (and, sometimes, older woman’s) eye.

John and Paul knew that they would have to face that adoration once again when they had to go to New York to promote Apple, their new business venture. A scene would surely erupt outside any hotel in which they stayed, leading to them being trapped. None of the hotels in New York were eager to host John and Paul either. The Beatles’ American manager, Nat Weiss, offered to loan John and Paul his two-bedroom apartment on East 73rd Street while he stayed at the St. Regis hotel. Their anonymity was soon interrupted once word quickly spread that two Beatles were in town. Hundreds of girls camped outside Nat’s normally quiet eastside Manhattan apartment, begging, crying, giving blowjobs to and even having sex with the security guard outside the building.

Linda, however, knew about their hideout before the rest of the world, as she was friendly with Nat. She begged him to let her meet with Paul, but Nat said that it was entirely Paul’s decision. Luckily, he said yes. Besides the young, attractive maid (who was hired at John’s request), Linda was proud that she was the only other woman allowed in the apartment. Initially, their meeting was intimidating, but soon became very relaxed. They smoked a little and chatted the afternoon away, mostly about music. For people with two different lifestyles, they certainly had plenty in common. Their one meeting afternoon turned into three. Linda’s routine over the next two days was visiting Paul in the early afternoon and staying until the early evening; afterward, she would pick Heather up from Mrs. Finch’s apartment.

Linda was well aware that if he was interested, he would come back. And, now, he suddenly invited her to come to London. Going to London meant that she would have to fly, which she detested ever since her mother died in a plane crash six years ago. Linda was only 19. Instead of staying with her family in New York, she flew back to Arizona and married Joseph Melvin See; shortly after, she discovered she was pregnant. In hindsight, it was not a wise decision. She could never call that part of her life a mistake, though, because of Heather.

Linda was touched that Paul even remembered her. Being a single parent was a turn-off to most men (and, also, socially unacceptable, though Linda did not particularly care about that). And personal details are largely irrelevant when you’re having casual sex on a date. But, when Paul came to visit in May, they got to know each other better. Inevitably, Heather would come up in conversation.

It was on a lazy, inexplicably endless sunny Saturday afternoon that felt more like a morning. She and Paul were lying in bed after a few hours of talking, toking, kissing, caressing and having sex. The apartment was so quiet that even while she and Paul were talking, she could have heard the hum of the air conditioner….were it not for the girls outside. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a stripe of light on the bottom corner of the bed closest to Paul. When she shifted her eyes up and to the right, she noticed the tranquil sunlight bending around and slowly shining through the white cotton curtains. As she drew her eyes back to Paul, she marveled at just how quickly the time went. Watching her chest compress, she felt the corner of her lips rise to a contented, closed-mouth smile while she silently sighed through her nose. Lying next to Paul on the newly wrinkled (and soiled) soft white sheets, she felt uninhibited, which is probably why she let it slip. Though, the pot helped, too.

Paul’s left hand was toying with the split ends of her shoulder-length, blonde hair as her right hand tousled his. Both of them were speaking eye-to-eye, in a contented tone while lying on their sides. Their discussion, rather series of musings, lacked concentration. A comfortable silence filled the void of conversation topics, which was then promptly broken by her stomach gurgling. Amused, Paul chuckled and asked with a smile “you hungry, Lin?” Linda looked toward her chest and gave a coy half smile. “We’ll get something to eat, then,” he said. He learned toward Linda to stroke the hair out of her face, punctuating his statement with a warm kiss on her lips.

As he lay, naked, back on the sheets, he mused “egg and chips sounds good”.

Recovering from her embarrassment, Linda returned to relaxation, knees slightly bent and head resting on her hands. Her eyes were half open as if she had just awoken. With a warm smile, she mused “Heather loves that for breakfast.”

“Who’s ‘Heather’?” he asked.

Linda lay in thought. Over time, she had become more disappointed by the dating scene. The people she met were fantastically talented, both on stage and in bed. The one-night-stands were enough to satisfy her sexual urges. Linda liked the people with whom she went to bed. Some of them were even friends. A serious relationship would be nice, but she was not desperate to have one. Linda was content with being a single mother with the occasional date or fling…but meeting Paul changed that. Though she wasn’t blinded to think she even had a chance of starting something with him, she decided to be honest. When she was growing up, her mother had always told her ‘honesty is the best policy’. Linda, in turn, passed that principle on to Heather. Shouldn’t she follow her mother’s advice? And her own advice?

Linda rolled to her right and looked into Paul’s eyes. “Heather is my daughter,” she explained.

Paul beamed, showing the misaligned tooth on the right side of his mouth that Linda adored. He had always wanted to start a family with Jane, but she wasn’t having any of it—she was always more concerned with her career.

Intrigued, he propped his head up with his left hand as he leaned closer to Linda. His stunning gold-flecked hazel eyes beamed as he smiled broadly. Paul asked the standard questions, like how old she was and if she went to school. And he asked some a-typical ones, as well, like her favorite activities, how she and Linda spent time together, if she often took photos of Heather along with countless others. Linda was relieved and flattered that Paul, unlike other men, seemed to be genuinely interested in Heather.

Heather. Her body nervously shook, as if she had repeatedly ignored an itchy spot on her skin. Abruptly, Linda’s mind landed in the present. Who would take care of her while she was gone? And what would she tell her about why her Mommy was leaving yet again? Linda had a whole host of issues to consider. She sat on the kitchen floor, robotically eating the entire box of granola.

When she finished, she stood up to look at the calendar to count the days until September, of which there were ten. On Tuesday, September 3rd, she saw “Heather’s 1st day at Dalton” written. She sighed. Though Linda was not the best student, she couldn’t deny that day was major milestone in her daughter’s life. Missing that day was not a compromise.

At the same time, the thought of saying ‘no’ to Paul only filled her with disappointment. Their time together was comfortable; they just fit. And, though she didn’t want to admit it, she missed him.

On their “Dirty Weekend” in June, they emerged from their smoke-filled cabana at the Beverly Hills Hotel to go on a romantic boat cruise in the Los Angeles Harbor. It turned out to be a tour on a friend of a friend’s somewhat dilapidated yacht. Paul apologized profusely but Linda couldn’t have cared less; they passed the time discussing art and music, their favorite topics. Linda felt as though she was beginning to know the true Paul, not the one that he put on for the press. He was still the friendly, optimistic man that everyone knew. But he was also caring, a wonderful listener and worldly. Yet, he was also lonely. What would surprise people the most is how intelligent “the cute one” really was. Every girl in the world dreamed of spending time with a Beatle, so why not take the chance?

Plus, he seemed to really like her. When she had arrived at the hotel, Paul had three other girls in his cabana. The girls, all fashionably dressed, were listening intently to every word that the fine specimen of Beatle before them was saying. Linda was well-aware that she would not be the only woman there; wherever Beatles go, groupies surely follow.

Paul flashed Linda an enthusiastic smile, making her heart run a marathon. Linda returned the gesture, causing Paul’s heart to go a bit wobbly. He led Linda to the sofa, forcing the African American girl out of her prize seat. Then, he told the girls that they had to pack their things and leave.

“What about the orgy later?!” angrily asked the Brazilian girl.

“Just keep the noise down, darling. I’ll be exhausted by tonight,” Paul said, giving Linda a sly wink.

 

Darting her eyes around the kitchen couldn’t help her reach a conclusion. Looking at the clock, Linda noticed it was still the early afternoon. Heather wouldn’t be home for another two hours, at least. She decided to smoke the rest of the joint and watch television to help her relax even more. The chatter on the television distracted her, but only just enough.

Abruptly, Linda’s body shook. The telephone’s ring pierced her ears, cutting through the inane chatter on the television.

Stumbling to the kitchen, she asked “hello?”

“Linda Eastman: you have a call on the white courtesy telephone in the lobby. Linda Eastman, please go to the white courtesy telephone in the lobby,” said Lillian.

Linda breathed a sigh of relief, then laughed. “Hi, Lillian,” replied Linda with as much charm as she could muster.

“Did I wake you? It’s almost half two, darling.” 

“I was just taking a nap.”

“Then go back to bed. You can all me later! I just hadn’t heard from you since the weekend. That’s all.”

“Oh no, no, that’s ok, Lillian,” Linda apologized as she yawned. “I have to be up anyway. Heather will be home soon. It feels like it’s been an age. How’s your book coming along?”

“It’s fine, you know. Bits and bobs coming about here and there. I’m still waiting for that interview from Clapton. That bugger thinks he’s so bloody important but, let me tell you, he’s got another thing coming if he doesn’t answer me. No one wants to incur the wrath of Lillian Roxon.”

“Heaven forbid,” Linda chuckled. “Danny told me he ran into you last night.”

“I did. He decided to have a pub crawl last night.”

“He sounded croaky this morning,” Linda yawned again.

“I’m not surprised,” she said, taking a swig of tea. “You sound tired, darling.”

“I just woke up from a nap,” Linda reminded her.

“You sure you weren’t just messing about?” Lillian teased as she grabbed yesterday’s newspaper.

“That hasn’t happened for a while,” she mused with a laugh. “The last person was….Jimi?...no, Danny. Not our Danny…no…Lillian, in my defense, I haven’t had anyone come over in a while. I’ve had my share of sex in the past few months, though.”

“Slut.”

Linda let out a raucous laugh. “That was unexpected.”

“You know it’s not true, darling. You’re pure class. A class act all the way.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “That means a lot coming from you, Lillian.”

Changing the subject, Lillian asked, “how’s Heather?”

“She’s great! She’s out with Angela and her mom right now. They said they were going to the park. I can’t believe she’s starting school soon, Lillian. She’s nervous but I know she’ll be alright. Heather’s been asking for you, actually.”

Lillian smiled. “Bless.”

“Maybe we can see you again soon. Heather misses you.”

“I miss her, too, the little darling. I remember when she was in nursery school and I was over yours looking at a book. She was sitting next to me and pointed to a word and said ‘that says ‘red’’. Astounding. I was proud of her.”

Linda beamed “me too.”

“Hey, guess who I just found a picture of!”

Linda’s smile faded but she decided she would play along, for Lillian’s sake.


	4. Chapter 4

Paul awoke the day after he called Linda feeling a bit better, though she had rejected him. What his Mum said rung true—situations always look better in the light of day. George Martin, The Beatles’ producer, added to his good mood. He called to tell Paul that he wanted his opinion on some of the rough mixes before the recording session at noon. Being needed gave him a reason to get out of bed. Over the next few days, Paul stayed busy recording. The vibe in the studio was good, though not as good as it had been in the early days. All the while, he wondered if he was missing Linda’s call.

 

After Paul called, Linda lived her life as she always had. She developed her photos, ran her errands and, of course, took care of Heather. In the back of her mind, however, she knew that life had presented her with a unique opportunity. Linda didn’t have anyone to turn to for advice or to bounce ideas off of; she had to rely on her instincts. She could have told Danny but she knew what he would say—“what’s there to think about?” The plane ride, for starters. But she would be with Paul. And she loved London the last time she went. Her instincts, and her heart, kept telling her to accept Paul’s offer.

Normally, Linda didn’t mind if her friends gossiped a bit—it seemed to be in their blood, what with most of them being journalists. But this situation was different because it was so private. The mere mention of The Beatles seemed to bring out the crazed fan in everyone. If she told her friends about her and Paul, soon, the entire world would know how they spent their time, where they went, their sex life… She would have close friends and old acquaintances ringing her at all hours to ask to come over, not to mention scores of reporters. To her, her neighbors and the doorman it would be an annoyance, but for Heather it would be a nightmare. Linda could handle the pressure of being in the spotlight; after all, spending time with Paul meant that she had to accept everything that came with it—tabloids, petty gossip and irate fans. But Heather didn’t ask for any of that. Her main concerns were playtime, sleep, cookies and her mother’s hugs and kisses.

Two days later, Linda left for Los Angeles with Danny. After unpacking, while Danny took a cat nap, Linda went to Aretha Franklin’s hotel room for a photoshoot for Madamoiselle with the magazine’s editor, Christopher.

“How was the photoshoot?” Linda shivered involuntarily at the question. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” she shrugged off. “It was…well, it was sad at first. I opened the door and found Aretha crying on the sofa. She said her husband, who was also her manager, had really ‘done her wrong’—that’s how she put it. He just left! Her band and everyone else was hounding her about their money…I felt terrible for her. I just sat and listened as she poured her heart out. She didn’t know me that well but I was the only person there, which is probably why she was talking to me. I gave her tissues and she kept drying her eyes and sipping slowly on vodka. She was so upset and I don’t blame her.” Linda took a sip of her drink. Shaking her head as she swallowed, she thought aloud, irritated, “I don’t understand how her husband could have done that—the few times I’d met her, she was always such a nice person…so kind. How could you just walk out on someone like that?! Really, she just needed someone to listen to her.”

“It sounds like it.”

“After a while, she calmed and we started chatting about other things. I got a few shots of her then.” Linda perked, telling Danny, “Suddenly, she exhaled, sat up straight and excused herself. Twenty minutes later, I was outside taking pictures of her in this gorgeous satin white dress. Aretha looked so confident and radiant, like you couldn’t even tell she had been crying. I was touched. I would’ve understood if she didn’t—she had been through so much that day. But she was determined. It meant a lot to me, not because of the money but because it says how much she trusted me. Aretha for the magazine looked good and did her job, but Aretha for me was more real. More honest.”

“It’s a testament to you, Linda. I’m glad she trusted you enough to let you take the shots you wanted. I’d expect that was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of situation. Nobody really lets you see them when they’re that vulnerable except close friends.”

“Yeah…” Linda sighed. The phrase “once-in-a-lifetime” remained at the front of her mind. She had another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity hanging in the balance.

The waitress approached their table. “Can I interest you in a dessert menu?”

“I’m full,” said Danny. “Did you, Linda?”

As she looked down, Linda swirled her Tom Collins in her glass on the table. “…No, Danny. I’m fine thanks.”

“Just the check,” he told the waitress. They had nowhere in particular to be until tomorrow, but still felt like there was something else they should be doing, like painting the town red. “Do you want to go out? We could go to a club.”

“You can,” said Linda distantly moved her index finger back and forth along the rim of her glass. “I’m going to stay here. I don’t really feel like going out.” The only reason to go to clubs was to meet men. The only man she wanted to meet was Paul.

“Is anything wrong, Linda?”

“Paul asked me to come to London.”

“Oh my god!” Danny exclaimed. “When are you going?”

Linda fidgeted in her chair. “Do you think he says that to lots of girls so he’s never alone? He just invited me to come over and to call him when I got there. That’s so vague. What if he wasn’t serious?”

“'How can you take a chance that he’s not serious? Linda, you love him! I remember how you gushed over him after you came back from London. You were one of the lucky few who got invited to the Sgt. Pepper photoshoot at Brian Epstein’s house last year. I would say that I don’t know how you managed to swing that but you could always attract the boys, Linda.”

“I never said anything about love, Danny. I just said that he was very sweet and cute.”

“…and smart, and talented, and groovy, and cool, and has a good sense of humor, and…”

“Alright, alright,” Linda joked.

“You’re in looove,” Danny teased.

“Stop,” she said with a gentle undertone of hurt.

Danny paused in thought. Linda had always talked about Paul but had never professed her love for him. “Well it’s just…” he said, treading carefully. He knew that Linda wasn’t angry but he wanted to be polite. Her friends all knew that she was wild about Paul. When an announcement was made at the end of last year that Paul and Jane Asher were engaged after a five-year courtship, everyone in her circle knew that she would be devastated. Linda, however, did not seem to mind. She expressed her well-wishes for them but said that she did not think they were right for each other…after only spending less than an hour with him. Still, as her close friend, he felt the need to speak up. “It’s just the way that it comes off, I guess. I can tell how much you like him because you talk about him often. I don’t want you to have your hopes dashed. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt. I know you’ve been with other musicians but Paul is a Beatle, after all.”

Linda smiled. “You’re sweet, Danny,” she said. “But I’m not delusional. I…”

“No, no, no,” Danny cut in. “I never meant it like that.”

“I know. I appreciate your concern but I’ll keep my head about it,” she reassured. All the while, her heart palpitated with thoughts of their previous meetings and phone conversations. That was the fourth time Paul had called her in a year. For someone who the press had described, until last month, as “happily engaged”, he certainly took an interest in her.

“What do you have to lose? At the worst, you'll find out you're one of many girls. It’s the risk you’re going to have to take. It'll cost you a plane ticket—that’s all! You'll get enough pictures while you're there to pay for the trip. On the other hand, if he's serious, Linda…if he's serious you'd better find out. Paul invited you to go. Just go.” He then added, “Linda, you always wanted to get closer to Paul. If you don’t go, you’ll always regret it.”

 

Two weeks passed before Linda decided to listen to her heart (and Danny). Part of the delay was figuring out her schedule for photography shoots and part of it was caring for Heather…but most of it was not calling to soon so she did not look overly enthusiastic. Though, it had to be on her own terms. Although leaving her daughter was not something she wanted to do, she had to test the waters with Paul somehow. She assumed that when Paul invited her to stay that it was going to be for more than a weekend. She had never spent longer than that with him. Perhaps they wouldn’t get along as well as they had in the past.

Regardless of her doubts, she had to call Paul to tell him that she was coming. Luckily, Angela’s mother offered to take Angela and Heather off her hands for the day, giving her plenty of time to call.

The first time she did so, in the late morning in New York, the phone rang endlessly. She quickly hung up, as she wanted to be sure that she would be free to talk.

Linda nervously bided her time by developing photographs and doing house chores before she called again. And again. Luckily, Paul picked up this time.

“Hello?” Paul panted, out of breath. He had run down a flight of stairs to his bedroom from the music room.

“Hi Paul,” she responded with nervous excitement.

Linda didn’t even have to say her name. While Paul beamed at the sound of her voice, his heart leapt. “Hello, Lin,” he warmly replied, trying to catch his breath.

Taken aback, she responded, “how’d you know it was me?”

“I’ve got a musical ear…well, at least some people think I do,” he remarked before coughing a few times.

Linda chuckled. “You think you could make a career of it?”

“It’s worth a shot,” he chuckled back. “So, uh, y’know, how’ve you been? How’s New York, the Big Apple?” He desperately wanted to hear Linda say ‘yes’ but knew that he had to make small talk first. Paul could small talk with the best of them but, now, his skills were failing him.

Linda could tell Paul was quite nervous and happier than he had been the last time she spoke to him. “New York is good. It’s hot and muggy here. That’s the way New York summer always is. How’s London?”

“It’s, um, it’s been…hot here lately. And sunny. Imagine that—sunny London!” he nervously laughed. “But,” he paused, aimlessly drawing his finger along the mahogany varnished nightstand “I, um…I could use some company, y’know”. Paul knew he was laying it on thick but he wanted Linda’s answer.

“I’d like to come to London.”

He jumped with excitement. She said yes!! “Brilliant! I’ll get you a ticket on the next flight out, then?” Paul couldn’t stop grinning nor could his heart stop palpitating.

Linda could hear Paul’s smile all the way across the Atlantic. She was thrilled that Paul was as excited as she was. “Not quite,” she chuckled.

Before she could eke out another word, Paul interrupted, “whenever you come over is just fine, Lin. You’ll have a ticket waiting for you at JFK. As soon as I have all the details, I’ll give you a ring, love.” ‘And maybe a diamond one later,’ thought Paul.

“I appreciate the offer, Paul, but I’ll pay for the ticket.”

Paul was surprised at her response—Linda certainly was independent. “Come ‘ead, love, I invited you out,” he insisted.

“It’s very nice of you, Paul. Really. But I’d feel more comfortable if I paid for the ticket myself.”

Paul cleared his throat. “But I was the one who invited you—at least let me pay for the ticket.”

Linda politely, but firmly, declined Paul’s generosity.

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Paul sighed. For now, he relented.

“Thanks,” she said with some relief. Linda insisted on paying for her ticket to have the upper hand. She certainly had feelings for Paul but was wary of the average rock star’s fickleness with women (and/or men). In case things didn’t work out, she could call the airline on her own to schedule a return flight. “Where should I stay?”

“With me!” he laughed. “That’s why I invited you, Lin.”

Linda beamed with glee. “Oh, well, that’s what I thought you meant when you asked.”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll have you pay room ‘n’ board.” Linda chuckled. “Let me know when you have your ticket. Don’t worry about when you schedule the flight. You can drop by the house any time, love.”

“Thanks, Paul. I’ll let you know.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Is there anything you want to see in London? Or do?”

‘You come to mind,’ though Linda. “Hmm…well…I’ll have to think about it. Do you have any suggestions, Paul? You’d know the city better than I do.”

“I’ll have to think of some places. Lately, all I’ve been seeing is the inside of studio two at EMI. I promise that whatever I find’ll be better than that endless boat cruise in L.A.”

“I enjoyed that. It was so nice to sit and chat on the water,” replied Linda sincerely.

Paul could tell Linda was telling the truth. “Oh, uh, well, I’m glad you liked it then. Is Heather enjoying her summer holiday?”

“She really is. She’s out with her friend, Angela, now. They went to the beach for the day.” Linda and Paul’s conversation could’ve gone on for hours. Mindful of the time, though, she politely ended the conversation, as the call was costing her a fortune.

After hanging up, Linda immediately tore out the phone book and began calling airlines about direct flights to London. Though she had already said ‘yes’, her heart was still pounding.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Linda found the time to schedule her flight in between picking Heather up from Angela’s apartment and developing her photos. Now that her plans were solidified, she had to embark on the difficult task of telling her daughter that she would be leaving for an indefinite period of time. Linda thought the most opportune time to tell her daughter would be after she finished her lunch.

Linda sat on the loveseat as she watched Heather precariously stack a tower of blocks while holding Kitty. “Look at that stack of blocks—it’s almost as tall as you!” Heather smiled proudly. “Want to come take a break and sit down with me?”

Heather’s smile faded. “Am I in trouble?” she asked with concern.

“Nonono!” Linda patted the seat to her left and invited her daughter to sit down next to her.

“Heather, do you remember a little while ago when I went to London?”

As Heather shook her head ‘yes’, she felt her right cheek rub against’ Kitty’s left.

“Do you remember what I did when I was there?” Linda asked.

Again, Heather timidly shook her head ‘yes’; she knew where this was leading. She quietly told her mother “you took pictures.”

“I did!” she said encouragingly. Linda knew that if she kept her spirits up, it would show Heather that what she was going to tell her was not to be feared. She continued, “I took lots and lots of pictures of musicians. And some of the pictures that I took were printed in a book. Remember how I showed some of them to you?”

“Yeah,” she said perfunctorily. She didn’t want her mother to leave. That had been happening more often in the past few months. Why did she have to leave?

“Well, people liked my pictures so much that someone asked me to come over to London again.” Linda chose her words carefully—she had to strike the precarious balance of not lying to Heather yet not telling her the complete truth either. “While I’m there, I’m going to take lots more pictures. My trip is for a little bit longer this time,” she told her daughter. Looking into Heather’s eyes, Linda could tell she was on the verge of tears. “Want to come sit in my lap?” she asked. Heather immediately obliged.

Linda groaned upon Heather sitting in her lap. “You’re getting so big! You won’t be able to sit in my lap for too much longer.” Linda knew she had said the wrong thing—Heather began to cry.

Linda’s attempt to right her wrong by rubbing her daughter’s back was in vain; Heather needed to release her emotion as streams of tears. Linda waited with patience and heartache until Heather’s sobs had subsided to short gasps and sniffles.

“Heather,” Linda said cautiously “can I get up to get you some tissues to blow your nose and dry your tears?”

“Are you leaving after that?” Heather croaked.

“No, I’m not leaving yet,” Linda reassured while rubbing her back. “Come on, sweetie, we’ll go together.”

In the bathroom, Linda dried Heather’s tears and gave her tissues to blow her nose. “Better?” she asked. Heather nodded her head. “What about Kitty? Does he need me to dry his tears?”

“No, he’s ok,” she mumbled. Heather felt a wave of tiredness overcome her.

Linda sat on Heather’s stepping stool to talk to her face-to-face. Heather’s feet dangled as she sat on the closed toilet seat. Linda explained that she would be taking pictures of musicians in London, sometimes at concerts.

“Why can’t you do it here?” Heather asked with disappointment. She felt Kitty’s wet tear-stained fur against her cheek.

“Because I have to go to London to take the pictures.”

Heather looked down at the black and white checked tile on the bathroom floor, then momentarily closed her eyes. “But are you gonna come back just like always?”

“Of course! How could I not come back?”

“What if you forget about me when you’re away?”

Linda put her left hand on her daughter’s left knee. In her reassuring motherly tone, she told her daughter “just because I’m going away doesn’t mean I’m not coming back. I could never forget about you—I’d miss you too much. I’ll miss you while I’m gone.” Linda gave Heather three short kisses on her right cheek. “I promise I’m coming back. I came back the last time I went to London, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Heather reluctantly agreed.

“See?” said Linda as she rubbed Heather’s knee. “I’ll come back! I’ll send you postcards…”

“And call,” Heather added.

“I’ll try to call as often as I can, sweetie. Calls from overseas are expensive but I’ll call sometimes.” Linda could see Heather’s disappointment as she pet Kitty’s back. “Don’t worry!” Linda told her.

Heather shrugged. Her mother’s reassurance did not excite her—she wanted everything to stay the same. She liked going to kindergarten and she liked living with her mother. What would she do without her in a new school? She didn’t want to be left all by herself.

Linda stood up and stretched. Sitting on that little stool was hurting her back. Crouching down to Heather’s eye level, she asked “wanna come sit on my lap in the living room?”

“You said I’m too big,” replied Heather bitterly.

Linda sighed. She explained that by ‘getting big’ she meant ‘growing up’ as she watched her daughter sit and sulk. Linda clasped her daughter’s right hand in her left. “Come on, let’s go sit together in the living room,” she said while gently shaking her daughter’s arm. After fierce reluctance, Heather finally walked to the living room with her mother, looking down at the momentary footprints in the cream-colored carpet all the way.

Linda sat on the loveseat, still holding her daughter’s right hand. “My lap is lonely, Heather. It could use a friend,” she guilted.

Heather watched her hand unclasp from her mother’s. On her knees, she looked out on the people and cars along 83rd Street. All of those people were so lucky—they still had their mommies to take care of them.

“What’s wrong?”

In protest, Heather continued to stare silently out of the window. Kitty’s softness and familiar smell comforted her. He was the only one in the world who cared about her.

“When you’re ready to talk like a big girl, I’ll be in the kitchen.” Frustrated, Linda went to the kitchen to clean the dishes. After a few seconds of silence, Heather gave her mother’s legs a long hug.

“I don’t wanna be all alone, Mommy!” Heather begged.

“All alone?” Linda asked, looking down at Heather. Taking her hand, she bent down and then shifted Heather in her arms, cradling her with her right one. “Heather, when I said I was leaving, I didn’t mean that I was leaving you all alone. Mrs. Finch said she would take care of you while I’m gone for a few days, and then you’ll be with grandma and grandpa, just like last time.”

This news put Heather somewhat at ease—she was thankful not to be left all alone. She liked Mrs. Finch because she was very nice, great at drawing and sometimes gave her something sweet. And she loved grandma and grandpa! But, none of those people were Mommy.

“Did you think I was going to leave you all by yourself?” Heather nodded her head. Linda assured her that she would never do that, as she was too young.

“But you said I was a grown up!”

“I said you were growing up, not that you were a grown up. I’m sorry if I scared you.” Though Linda could feel Heather relaxing as she hugged her, she could tell that she was still worried. “You’re going to be with Mrs. Finch for a few days and then grandma and grandpa will take care of you after that.” Linda let go of her daughter and coaxed her onto her lap. “See? You still fit,” she told her with a kiss. “Are you excited to start school soon?”

Heather sat silently for a moment. She made Kitty give her a kiss and happily returned the favor.

Filling the cold silence, Linda continued, “change isn’t a bad thing, Heather. Things can change for the better. You’re going to go to a brand new school with new kids. But you’ll know some people there, like Angela. I’ll take you to school for the first few days. And, then, grandma or grandpa will be taking you to school. Before you know it, I’ll be back! You’ll see—it’ll go quickly. And some things will never change, like how much I love you.” Linda gave her another kiss on the cheek and left it at that. Though she was somewhat sad Heather was having trouble accepting that her mother would be leaving, Linda knew, in her heart, that she had made the right decision to go to London.


	6. Chapter 6

“Eastman residence,” answered Mary.

“Hi Mary,” Linda said warmly. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“Linda!” Mary exclaimed. “I haven’t spoken to you in an age. How are you?”

“I’m doing well. Keeping busy with photography going to shows. How’s Hank?” she asked.

“Doing what he’d been doing every day for the past 28 years—being a plumber.”

Linda took a large sip of milk. “Is he still putting hot sauce on everything?”

Mary laughed heartily. “Does a leopard change its spots? If he bought a hot sauce company, he’d have zero orders to ship because he’d have eaten it all.” She heard Linda chuckling. “How are you doing? How’s Heather?”

“Growing. I remember when she was at my knees. And now she’s almost at my hips.” Linda let out a small sigh. “She’s starting big school soon. I’m proud of her.”

“Just remember that, no matter how old she gets, Linda, she’ll always need her momma. She’s momma’s little girl.”

Linda smiled. “That’s true,” she said, trying to swallow a belch. “Is my Dad there?”

“He is. Let me go get him, honey. Just a minute, Linda.”

“Thanks, Mary.”

Linda waited for her lawyerly father while silence and some static played in her ear. The faint music from the radio in her living room lightened the mood. She felt slightly nervous about telling her father why she needed him to babysit his granddaughter.

Lee Eastman cleared this throat, then gruffly said “hello?”

“Hi Dad,” she replied, misleadingly promising herself that her kind tone would soften her father’s mood. “How are you?”

“Good. I am preparing for my meeting with Tommy Dorsey later today. He is coming over to review some publishing contract agreements with me. He has some questions about the legal verbiage.”

“Dad, it’s Saturday,” Linda reminded him after swallowing another swig of milk. Her father rarely missed the opportunity to insert business somewhere into the conversation. Most of her childhood memories of her father involved him being in his office or discussing business about or with his musically or artistically talented clients at the dinner table.

“Business doesn’t stop,” he explained matter-of-factly.

“Is he going to stay for dinner? I remember I’d always want him to do that magic trick where he’d tell me to look at the lights and clap. And then, right after, the lights would go out. It took me years to realize that he was just flickering the light switch.”

“It depends on how long it takes. He is really only coming to discuss contracts.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “Dad, could you do me a favor?”

“Hmm,” he grumbled.

“I’m going to England on the 27th for a few days to take some photos. I’m not sure how long it will be. But, I need someone to take care of Heather.”

“Are you doing more photos for the same people who wrote you that awful contract for that book you did last year. What was it called? ‘Rock and Other Four Letter Words’?”

Toying with the phone cord, Linda replied “no, this is for something else.”

“For what?”

“A different project. A personal project.”

Lee frowned, sensing that Linda was not being completely forward. Going into lawyer mode, he asked “what kind of project? I have to know what I’m getting into here.”

“You’re not ‘getting into’ anything, Dad! You’ll just be spending some time with your granddaughter.“

“How long will you be gone?”

“It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On how long it takes to complete the project.”

Shuffling some papers on his desk, he asked, “what is this ‘project’ you keep mentioning?”

Linda felt her frustration growing. “The project that I’m going to England for.”

“Is it a trade secret?”

“No, it’s still being put together.” As soon as Linda finished that sentence, she clenched her left fist, regretting the conversation that was about to occur.

“How can you just go to England without everything being in place? I want to see the contract. Are you going to be making any money?”

“From taking these photographs, I could.” She began to pace the kitchenette.

“Could? You’re taking a risk. A trip to England is an investment.”

“It’s for something that I love, Dad. It’s being around musicians and taking photographs!”

Lee stood up, taking the phone with him as he searched his bookshelf. “Money makes the world go ‘round, Linda. You have a daughter to support. You have yourself to support. Let me see the contract so I can make sure you’re getting a fair deal. It should be a work-for-hire.”

“There is none.”

“Then how are you going to make money?”

“By taking these pictures and then selling them.”

Knowing his daughter, Lee tabled the conversation. He would discover why she was going to England eventually. “How long will you be gone?” he pressed.

“I don’t know.”

“I have to know how long you will be gone, Linda,” he told her as his chair squeaked.

“It’s open-ended—it depends on how long it takes to get the photos I need. I think, at least two weeks.”

“Now I have a time table! This is progress. Monique and I are going to Montauk that weekend you are leaving. Jack invited us up. We will return late on that Sunday. We can take Heather after that. I will take her with me in the car with Edward. He will drop her off at school before he drops me off at work. It will be nice to have some company on the drive. I usually just review some contracts on the way there.”

“Thank you,” Linda sighed, dizzy from pacing such a small space. “I’ll find someone else to take her for that weekend. Once I find someone, I’ll let you know.”

“In a timely fashion, Linda. Not two minutes before you board the plane.”

 

The date for Linda’s departure, September 27, had finally arrived. Heather had accepted that, no matter how much she begged, her mother had to leave.

Linda took Heather upstairs to Mrs. Diana Finch’s twelfth floor apartment, holding a suitcase with some of Heather’s clothes and toiletries in her left hand and Heather in her right. With Kitty in one arm, Heather stood on her tiptoes to press the elevator button that said ‘PH’.

Mrs. Finch opened the door upon hearing Heather’s knock. “Hello Linda!” she greeted. Looking down at Heather, she said hello to her as well. 

Heather greeted Mrs. Finch politely but with sadness. Just because she accepted that her mother was leaving for a few weeks didn’t mean that she wouldn’t miss her.

“Come in, sit down!” She motioned for Linda and Heather to enter her beautiful penthouse apartment, painted baby blue and trimmed with white crown molding.

“Oh thanks, Diana, but I can’t stay long. I’ve got to catch a cab to the airport soon. I just came by to drop Heather off. I really appreciate you taking care of her,” Linda said as she set Heather’s suitcase down on the plush, impeccably ivory-colored carpet. Heather stayed close to her mother, holding her right hand. She was used to her mother leaving for the night, not for an extended period of time. And the fact that Mommy didn’t know when she was coming back frightened her. Starting a new school was intimidating enough; her mother leaving didn’t help.

Mrs. Finch was a spry, retired baker who had recently sold her bakery, at which she had worked and eventually owned for 38 years. They first met when Henry wandered in to escape the bitter cold and wild wind early one November morning; the scents inside were particularly inviting after a trying 18-hour surgical residency shift at Mount Sinai Hospital. Her butter cookies and a cup of coffee from the coffee maker in the back warmed his body; her smile warmed his heart.

After they married, Henry knew that asking Diana to be a housewife would have been selfish—it would have prevented her from doing what she loved. Diana knew she was fortunate to have married such an understanding and forward-thinking man. Even after Henry retired, she continued to own and work in the bakery part-time. Linda liked her because she was friendly and had a zest for life. Heather and Mrs. Finch seemed to get along well, too—they both enjoyed coloring, drawing and baking.

She took pleasure in taking care of Heather, as her own grandchildren lived in Vermont and far upstate New York. Being recently widowed, Diana especially enjoyed Heather’s company. And she knew Heather liked her because, sometimes, she gave her fresh baked cookies or cake when she babysat.

“Are you going to take more photos while you’re there?” asked Mrs. Finch.

Heather tugged her mother’s arm. “Mommy,” she whined.

“Heather, I’m talking to Mrs. Finch now. You have to wait your turn,” she said as she looked down at Heather. Linda then continued, “yeah, I plan to take as many photos as I can. A good portion of my suitcase is devoted to my camera and a whole lot of film. London is gorgeous. It has such a rich history and a fabulous scene right now. It’s just really hot.” ‘…as is the man who is waiting for me there,’ thought Linda.

“I had a marvelous time every time Henry, the kids and I all went to London. All the people were friendly and the city is gorgeous. The tube took us everywhere and the kids loved it! Go and enjoy yourself, Linda. London is such a happening place right now.” She added, chuckling, “if you’re lucky, you might even see a Beatle!”

“Mommy?” Heather asked as she shook Linda’s arm.

“Heather, don’t interrupt—it’s rude,” she admonished, looking down at her daughter. Turning to Diana again, she said, “sorry. It’s a lot of fun to take photos because you really get to capture the moment. To take pictures of people when they’re in their element, well, that’s just marvelous.”

“Are you all packed? Make sure you take a coat and an umbrella—rainy London, as they say.”

“Yeah, I brought some clothes but most of my suitcase is filled with rolls of film and my camera,” replied Linda, conveniently omitting her birth control among the list of items.

“How long are you going to be away?” Mrs. Finch asked. Heather’s ears perked up at the question—Mommy hadn’t told her how long she would be gone.

“For right now, it’s on a week-to-week basis. My assignment is touch-and-go,” Linda explained. She didn’t really just lie, did she? It was the truth—how long she would be in London was a mystery. It largely depended on how well she and Paul got along. “But, Heather’ll only be with you until early Monday afternoon. Grandpa Lee and grandma Monique are going to come pick her up then.”

“Oh, ok,” said Mrs. Finch. While she was envious of Linda, she wondered if spending so much time away from Heather now was such a good idea. Like Linda, she was in favor of the women’s liberation movement, but the first year of school was a big milestone in a child’s life. She felt badly for Heather that her mother wouldn’t be there to help her make sense of it all. Even with Henry’s hectic surgery schedule at the hospital, he always made time for his children and grandchildren. At least Heather had her Grandma and Grandpa. And, for the next day and a half, she could mother Heather.

Uncomfortable with discussing the details of her trip, Linda changed the subject. Linda handed Mrs. Finch the key to her apartment and some money for her help. She told her, “here’s the apartment key in case Heather needs anything. And some money, too. I’ll be checking my messaging service if you need me. My dad has your phone number. He’ll call you before he and Monique pick Heather up.”

“Thank you, Linda. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I appreciate it,” she smiled. “I know Heather’s in good hands while I’m gone.” Looking at her watch, Linda realized that she had to get a move on it if she was going to make her flight. But, first, she had to say goodbye to Heather. Linda could feel Heather’s quiet presence as she stood beside her, biding time until she left. Bending down, Linda told her she had a surprise.

“What is it?!” Heather loved surprises.

“Look in your suitcase,” Linda pointed.

“Mommy, there are just clothes in there!”

“You sure?” Linda asked with joyful doubt.

Upon opening the suitcase, Heather found a framed black and white picture of her mother on top and a pile of other pictures underneath. “It’s a picture of you!” Heather exclaimed. A few months ago, Heather asked her mother how she used the camera to take pictures of people and objects. How did all of that fit inside there? Mommy taught her how to use the camera. Telling her to be very gentle with it, her mother gave her a roll of film to try by herself! Since then, occasionally, when Heather asked to use the camera, her mother let her. A few days ago, Linda asked Heather if she wanted to use another roll of film. Of course, she accepted her mother’s offer; Heather took pictures of everything she could find in the apartment. In less than half an hour, she had used up the entire roll.

Heather gave her mother a meaningful hug. “Thank you, Mommy,” she said.

“You’re welcome, Heather,” Linda whispered. “Do you know who took that picture?”

“Who?”

“You!” Linda exclaimed. Her exclamation made Heather beam with pride; Linda, in turn, smiled back. “The rest of your pictures you took are in there, too. You took some great ones, Heather.” She continued, pointing to the picture, “whenever you miss me, just look at that picture and know that I’ll be thinking about you.” Linda saw Heather’s smile fade as soon as her mother mentioned missing her. “Mrs. Finch, Grandma and Grandpa are going to take good care of you while I’m gone. I’ll send you postcards just like you asked. And I’ll be back before you know it.” She gave Heather a warm kiss on her forehead. Quickly, her daughter’s small arms surrounded her. Kitty filled the space between them. Linda knew that her leaving was like a Band-Aid—the quicker you pull it off, the less painful it is. “Ok, Heather, I gotta catch my flight to London. Be a good girl while I’m gone. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mommy,” Heather sadly replied. “Will you call me?”

“I will.”

“Will you really send me postcards?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Heather felt her mother’s loving kiss on her right cheek. Then, all of a sudden, the warmth of her mother’s embrace vanished.

Linda stood up, said goodbye to Diana and thanked her again for taking care of Heather. She also reminded her not to give Heather too many sweets. As she closed the door, she smiled and waved back at her daughter. While hurrying downstairs to grab her suitcase, Linda had a stew of emotion brewing inside her—the sexual anticipation of seeing Paul, her nervousness about flying and the pride of paying for her own ticket. While she would miss Heather, she was quite excited to see Paul and get a few days to herself. Having sex with Paul was an added bonus.

Heather stood in front of the door that her mother just closed, Kitty tucked under her right arm. She silently looked at the framed picture of her mother in her left hand, which comforted her. Still, she wondered when her mother would return. A tear dropped onto the frame, then onto the carpet.

The sight of seeing Heather staring at the door concerned Mrs. Finch. She could tell that Heather was heartbroken her mother had left. Crouching in front of Heather, she saw tears rolling down her red cheeks. Carefully, she placed the framed picture on the marble-topped end table behind her while taking Heather in her arms.

After Heather had stopped crying, Mrs. Finch took her to the bathroom to wash her hands and face.

“Mommy makes me do that, too,” Heather commented, rubbing the last few tears out of her eyes.

“Great minds think alike,” she smiled.

Heather hugged and kissed Kitty, pretending that he was Mommy. Looking up at Mrs. Finch, she thanked her.

“You’re welcome, Heather.”

While Heather was washing up, an idea dawned on Mrs. Finch. “Let’s go to the kitchen to bake some chocolate chip cookies. You’ll be my sous-chef,” she suggested. If she distracted Heather, she knew that she wouldn’t think about her mother leaving.

Heather perked up at the idea, eagerly rushing to the kitchen. She helped gather the ingredients for the cookies. She also helped to measure the flour, sugar and butter and cracked the eggs. Tried as she could to mix the batter, she wasn’t strong enough. Before adding the chocolate chips, Heather insisted on taste testing them; once she was satisfied, they were added to the mix.

With her small hands, she carefully formed the dough into balls—Mrs. Finch was much faster at that than she was. Mrs. Finch also showed her how to space the cookies so they wouldn’t touch. All the while, Heather’s sadness waned.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t any dough left in the bowl to eat; Heather would have to wait until the cookies were fully baked. It was difficult to wait while the smell of cookies wafted from the oven. Annoyingly, Mrs. Finch insisted that Heather let the cookies cool before she ate one—otherwise she would get something called “heartburn”.

Finally, once the waiting was over, Mrs. Finch poured Heather a tall, cold glass of milk. With hunger and anticipation, she tasted the slightly warm cookies. They were very good…but not as good as her mother’s.

Heather instantly remembered a day from February—there was so much snow that kindergarten was canceled! She helped Mommy make chocolate chip cookies. Her job was to add in all of the chocolate chips to the batter…if she didn’t eat them all first. Chocolate chip cookies were yummy and Mommy always made them best—she only baked a few at a time so they were warm and the chocolate was melty. One time, she ate so many cookies that when she kissed Mommy on the cheek, her lips left a chocolate kiss mark. While the snow gracefully (and endlessly) fell, they snuggled together on Linda’s bed under a scratchy dark brown wool blanket, drinking milk, eating warm chocolate chip cookies and taking turns reading aloud. When Linda read the bigger books, if it was one from the library, she would lick her fingers before she turned a page. Captivated by the story, Heather started to turn the pages herself to make her mother read faster. From then on, she and her mother informally agreed to a system—she would turn the pages, Linda would read…and lick the chocolate off her fingers.

Linda’s palms sweat the entire time the plane began descending. Since her mother died, she always feared the something would go awry toward the end of the flight, resulting in a crash. Though, this time, she was also nervous in anticipation of her seeing Paul for the first time in almost three months. Why had she worn this tan cable-knit sweater anyway? Concentrating on the creases on her black Mary Janes, Linda hummed the chorus to “Hello Goodbye” to calm herself as the plane landed. In May after the Apple press conference, when she leaned in to give Paul a kiss goodbye, he met her halfway on her lips. When their lingering kiss ended, Linda said “goodbye”; Paul added, “I don’t know why you say ‘goodbye’, I say ‘hello’” with a wink. Because of that exchange, over the past few months, the song’s melody would regularly accompany her fond memories of him.

 

In the terminal, Linda prepared herself to find her suitcase among the sea of luggage. When walking down the steps, she saw an older man dressed as a proper English chauffeur, complete with cap. He was holding a sign that said “Eastman”. In her haste to make plans, she forgot to ask for Paul’s address until the night before she left. When she called, he insisted that he would get a hired car; if she wouldn’t let him pay for the ticket, at least he could pay for her ride to the house. Linda greeted him with a nervous smile, telling him that she would be just a minute looking for her bag. He told her there was no need, as it would be delivered to the house.

In the car, Linda looked out the window as the buildings and cars zoomed past on a late September Saturday night. Memories of her last trip to London flooded back—the Sgt. Pepper release party, taking pictures of the music scene in London, going around to the local nightclubs with friends. It was at one of those clubs, The Bag O’ Nails, that she and Paul kept looking at each other from across the room. Once he made his way over, he clumsily approached her, blocking her exit from the club. He said the only line he could come up with—“hi, my name’s Paul. What’s yours?” He was certainly charming, though; his friendly smile put her as much at ease as she could be while in the vicinity of a Beatle. With a nervous and emotion-filled heart, Linda reminded herself to get her mind out of the clouds about this trip; she had slept with rock stars before. Linda distracted herself by talking with the driver.

If she had not stopped herself from fantasizing, the girls standing outside Paul’s house certainly would. They immediately surrounded the car to see who was inside. Once the girls discovered the person inside was a girl, they turned from excited to nasty, hitting the car and hurdling cruel words at her; she pretended none of them hurt. The jealous part of her couldn’t help but wonder how many of those girls he had been with. Linda heard a buzzer and then the metal fence slowly drew back. Her heart thrashed while the car drove inside. Surprisingly, the girls didn’t try to go in after it.

Paul’s house was proper British—large enough to know that the person who lived there was wealthy, but not too large. By Beatle standards, it was downright modest. After getting out of the car, she looked up to see three floors, the top two of which were made of stone. She passed the white paneling on the bottom floor and anxiously made her way up the four concrete steps to his door. Then, Linda waited in the cool autumn night air for Paul.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter in this story which contains a sex scene.

In his third floor music room, Paul’s pleasant noodling on the piano was ruined when he played a wrong chord at the sound of the gate buzzer. ‘Linda!’ he thought, filled with the same boyish anticipation as Christmas morning. He heard Martha barking downstairs, who had just awoken from her slumber; she was just as excited as he was! Paul barreled, and almost tumbled, down three flights of stairs to answer the buzzer. His feelings of happiness were familiar, yet, nowadays, strange. He looked at himself in the mirror in the house’s entryway, fixing his hair and his shirt collar in between pushing Martha down.

Paul opened the door to see Linda, in a black knee-length black pea coat and black Mary Janes, politely waiting at his front door. Where her pea coat ended, her maroon and forest green argyle socks began. Linda’s strawberry blonde hair had a golden aura from the moonlight. The gatebirds screamed as soon as they saw him, but he couldn’t have cared less—finally, the woman who he had waited almost three long weeks to see had arrived. Paul gave her a warm smile and a hug brimming with anticipation that had built since he saw her four months ago. As their embrace lingered, he could discern the faintly flowery scent of her shampoo. Paul momentarily broke their embrace to push Martha down with his left hand. His heart was racing as he gave her a kiss on the lips that was passionate in intensity but polite in length. Most of he gatebirds oohed but some of them booed; he wanted to tell them to piss off but retained his composure. After looking Linda up and down once more, his smile illuminated as he said “hello, Ms. Eastman.”

“Hello, Mr. McCartney,” she responded playfully as she gave him a kiss in return. Martha barked and excitedly jumped on her. Linda gave her a friendly pat on the head, satisfying her desire for attention. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Martha. How was your trip, love? ‘ere, come inside,” he said, taking her hand. Before he could shut the door, the driver reminded Paul about his fare.

“Oh, right,” remembered Paul. “I’ll just be a minute then.” Paul hurried Martha back in the house and shut the door. He told Linda to have a seat in the living room in the meantime.

Linda watched Paul scurry up the stairs in front of her. She smiled to herself as she noticed that his fancy black cotton pants with dark grey pinstripes were tight enough to accentuate his cute little butt.

Linda looked around the bottom floor while waiting for Paul. Martha’s barking and the sound of her jingling tags followed. To her left was a window seat that faced high bushes and his neighbor’s home. She hung her coat on the coat rack and removed her shoes. As she did so, she noticed the smell of cigarettes and the stench of a litter box. ‘Paul must have a cat, too. He loves animals,’ she excitedly thought. ‘But his house smells awful, just like cat and dog pee’. Instantly, Linda’s thoughts drifted to how excited Heather would be that he had a cat. She let herself miss Heather for a moment, then continued to look around the house.

To her right was the living room, which had two large windows. Currently, the white curtains were drawn. ‘Privacy’, mused Linda. The living room was mostly empty, except for a milky coffee-colored velvet couch, a chocolate brown chair and ottoman set, a television and a fireplace. There were also some items that she did not recognize, like an Eastern-looking instrument set on a stand and something that looked like a futuristic piece of equipment with controls and a red and white light. There were stains on the grayish blue walls and, probably, on the faded brown carpet as well. The only thing that prevented it from being a total bachelor pad was the Sergeant Pepper drumhead and the framed paintings on the wall. Linda approached the painting with the same caution that she would if she was in a museum. One of them was signed ‘Picasso’, the other was signed ‘Magritte’. Having grown up with a father who was an art lover and collector, she was pretty sure they were authentic. Linda was shocked and impressed that Paul had aesthetic taste.

Martha interrupted Linda’s study of the art on the wall, barking for more attention. Linda took a seat on the long, three-sectioned couch, petting Martha while looking at the built-in bookcases on the wall opposite the fireplace. Paul had two record players, a tape machine and a host of books, all in disarray. Dissatisfied with the new visitor’s lack of attention, Martha began sniffing Linda’s shoes—she was eager to play with someone new. Her cuteness, however, could not mask the fact that she desperately needed a bath and a good toothbrushing.

Closing the front door, Paul excitedly headed straight for the living room, gift bag in hand. “Hello, love,” he said as he sat to Linda’s right. Paul gave in to the pining urge to sweetly and longingly kiss Linda on the lips.

The warmth of his lingering kiss made Linda smile. As she pulled away from him after their short make out session, her fingertips fleetingly grazed his soft baby blue shirt. She could tell that he was much happier than when he invited her to stay with him.

Still romantically charged from Linda’s kiss, Paul asked Linda how her trip was. He couldn’t be more chuffed to have someone living in the house about whom he cared and, possibly, loved.

“It was fine. I tried to sleep along the way. I’m not much for flying because my, uh,…it, just…”

“Your mum?” Paul cut in as he patted Martha on the head.

“Yeah,” she quietly replied. Changing her tone, she added, ”I like your Magritte.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said, semi taken aback. “That’s one of my favorites, actually. When I first saw it, I was just knocked out—that big, green apple and the ‘au revoir’ written in Magritte’s script…I’m glad you like it, too.” He walked toward the painting and explained to Linda “me friend ‘Groovy Bob’ brought that over one day. Well, his name isn’t really ‘Groovy Bob’, it’s Robert Fraser,” he force-chuckled. “He’s a gallery owner in London. He brought that one over one day. I remember it really well. It was a warm summer day and I was busy in the garden with some filming. He didn’t want to disturb us so he’d just left it on me dining room table. It was a great surprise to find it. I love Magritte’s sense of humor. And he’s a really interesting bloke, too.” Not wanting Linda to be bored, he went into Beatle-mode. “I loved the big green apple so much that I was inspired to use it for the Apple logo. We cut it in half for the B-side.”

“Mmm, interesting,” Linda commented, downplaying her interest in Paul’s Beatle fact. “Have you always liked Magritte?”

“Yeah, ever since I learned about him in the 50s, I liked him. His paintings are uncomplicated but say so much. I could look at ‘em for hours. What about you?”

“I remember thinking how interesting his paintings were when I was younger. When I was growing up, my father brought a lot of his clients, who were artists, over for a meeting or dinner. They’d talk about business, which I always found so boring. I was always most interested in when they talked about art. My dad taught me a lot about it.” Linda could tell Paul was listening intently, as his eyes were focused on her. She smiled back at him, then continued “my dad learned about Magritte through his clients before he had a big exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art; a lot of them liked his work. My dad liked it, too, so he bought some. He heard that the Museum was going to have a dedicated exhibition and he knew my mom would love it; she was very into keeping up with the Joneses. Bullshit if you ask me; you should buy art or whatever else because you like it, not because it’s fashionable…anyway, we had lots of art around the house. If his clients didn’t have the cash, they’d pay him in an original piece.”

Paul was impressed with Linda’s knowledge. He stumbled out of his daydream when he heard Linda cough a few times.

“Alright, love? Did you want some water?”

“Please.”

Paul returned from the kitchen with a glass of cool water. “Thanks,” Linda said, taking it in her hands. After practically inhaling a third of the glass, she said, “thanks for the car at the airport, Paul. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was happy to, Lin.” Giving her the bag he had set down before their discussion about art, he said, “maybe this’ll make you feel better. It’s a belated birthday pressie.” Paul hoped she liked what was inside.

The package smelled heavenly—the tissue paper was scented with lavender! Linda reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of lavender bath salts, bars of lavender soap and lavender hand cream. With a warm smile, she thanked Paul and gave him a kiss.

Paul smiled mischievously. “You’re welcome, love. Happy belated birthday,” he said as he placed his left hand on her right knee. “I know how much you enjoy taking baths, so I figured you’d enjoy all that”. By the time he finished his sentence, his left hand had crept to Linda’s upper thigh. “Want to go take one together?” he said with a naughty smile.

Paul’s advance was just what she needed after a stressful trip. But his hands were frigid! Cold hands were certainly a turn off. She took Paul’s frigid left hand, remarking how cold his hands were.

“Cold hands, warm heart,” he winked. As Linda held his hand, Paul noticed her long, slender fingers, which were perfect for holding her camera…or giving him a hand job.

 

Silence surrounded them as they held each other’s hands. Paul instinctively closed the gap between them, giving Linda another of the kisses that he longed to give her when she first arrived. Their hands unclasped, furiously searching for somewhere to hold. Linda’s fingers dragged themselves toward Paul’s belly button and then playfully danced around his crotch. Paul’s (now warmed) expert hands went in different directions. His right index and middle fingers intently stroked Linda’s neck while his left hand slowly reached up her back to unhook her bra. As Linda’s lips left Paul’s, she beamed. Paul was the only man who could effervesce her sexual frustration these days; sex with other men was a fun distraction, but she always ended up comparing their performance to his.

After unhinging her bra, Paul slid his left hand to her chest. He felt softness all around his hand—Linda’s sweater on top, her skin on the bottom. Paul remembered from the “Dirty Weekend” that it drove Linda wild when he kissed her under her ears. He nuzzled his face in Linda’s neck, placing kisses under her left ear.

Linda felt Paul’s lips and his hot breath cradle the back of her neck. Paul’s kisses always left her with a feeling that lingered; although she wanted to believe that feeling was love, she convinced herself that it was simply the Beatle effect. Or, perhaps, he remembered what she liked from last time.

Paul could feel Linda’s heart pounding as he caressed her breasts. Her lips embraced his. He could also feel her fingers rubbing against his inner thigh. “Let’s continue this in the bath, love,” Paul longingly suggested. Linda agreed—she wanted to be naked with Paul. And she could use a bath, too.

Paul grabbed the gift bag and ran upstairs; as he did so, he internally remarked that he hadn’t felt a non-chemical-induced rush like this since…well, he couldn’t remember. It was probably when he and his ex-fiancée, Jane Asher, boffed the first few times.

Upstairs, they strew their clothes among the mess. The bedroom was chilly, making it both necessary, and romantic, to stay close together to benefit from each other’s body heat. They gave each other one look and knew that they wanted the other’s touch.

Forgetting the bath, they ended up on Paul’s unmade bed. Their clothes added to the mess of Paul’s bedroom. His sweaty palms caressed Linda’s torso as he looked down at her. He was rarely, if ever, nervous about sex but, this time was an exception. Linda giggled as Paul lightly drew invisible lines with his index finger on her stomach’s smooth, pale skin. A kiss near her belly button made her giggle even more. 

Her laughter was infectious. It lightened the sexual intensity between them, which Paul rather enjoyed. “You’re quite ticklish,” Paul remarked between giggles.

“You’re not?” she asked, continuing to giggle.

“No,” Paul replied guilelessly.

“We’ll see about that,” she remarked with a wry smile. Linda was intrigued by the challenge. She rolled Paul onto the mattress to begin her experiment. Paul was visibly happy with wherever she tickled him—behind his ears, behind his knees, on his chest—but he never broke into a fit of giggles like she did.

“Is your experiment complete, Dr. Eastman?” he said in a mock posh voice.

Linda gave a closed mouthed smile as she shook her head and mouthed the word ‘no’. As she slowly stroked one spot on his upper left arm with her right index finger, Paul stifled a laugh. With an amused smile, Linda said “aha, I’ve found an anomaly in my tests, Mr. McCartney!”

“It’s the only one you’ll find.” Linda gave him a look of amused doubt. “You gonna run some more tests, then?” Paul asked. With a gentle kiss on his lips, Linda told Paul she was.

She immediately found another spot on his right hip. “Another anomaly,” she mocked. Linda leaned in to give Paul a kiss on his neck as her right hand rested on his cool chest for leverage.

Linda’s lips felt wonderful there but would feel better against his. He leaned up so his lips could touch hers, giving her many short kisses. Linda slowly pushed Paul’s back into the mattress, giving him a rush; he liked a woman who knew what she wanted in bed.

Paul, too, knew what he wanted. Clasping Linda’s right hand in his left, he guided her hand downward. She grazed Paul’s left inner thigh with her index finger, making him gasp. Linda cocked her head to the side, showing her beautiful smile.

Paul could feel his pulse in the pit of his stomach as Linda’s left hand continued to play on his inner thigh. She then leaned toward his lips, giving him a perfect French kiss. Paul knew she was teasing him, as Linda was never one for being told what to do.

When Linda was ready, she began stroking him slowly at first, then faster. Paul gave a satisfied hum of pleasure, which soon turned into a moan. He could feel the fusion of sexual satisfaction, excitement and a sprinkle of nervousness creep up his torso. Though Paul had orgasmed plenty in his short 26 years, this feeling was unfamiliar.

Paul’s pleasure-filled moan let her know that he had come. Quickly, she mounted him; Linda knew she could easily get him to come again, but not before she moved Paul’s hand off her bum. He placed it as his side, gripping the sheets beneath his fingers to brace himself.

Linda set the rapid pace, with which Paul was able to follow easily. They moved together, rhythmically; ‘this is one of the advantages of doing a musician’, thought Linda.

 

Sweaty, Linda and Paul lay on the bed, hearts pounding. Snuggled next to Paul, Linda was exhausted from a day of travel and from the liberating sex she just had. She was satisfied but knew Paul would want to go again.

Paul lightly stroked his foot on Linda’s stubbly legs—it was his turn now. He and Linda shared a few enthusiastic kisses before starting to make out. Paul ended the session with a simple, quick, loving kiss on her lips. He smiled at her, lightly pushing her nose with his left index finger. Lying on her right side, Linda quietly laughed, giving him a half-drunken post coital smile. With his left hand, Paul carefully rubbed Linda’s right cheek. Under the covers, Linda’s right foot played footsie with Paul’s left.

Seeing that her master had finished, Martha jumped onto the foot of the bed. The warmth of her body warmed Linda’s feet -but her body was still cold. She snuggled closer to Paul and, with her feet, drew the covers down to cover more of her legs.

Paul took that as a cue to kiss Linda again. He leaned down on Linda’s supple, cold skin to give her a kiss on the lips.

“Now you’re the one who’s cold, love.” The tips of the fingers on his left hand made gentle strokes under Linda’s right jaw. “Guess it’s my job to warm you up,” he smiled. Paul climbed on top of Linda and began kissing his way down to her belly button. He heard her giggling.

“That tickles,” Linda laughed as she felt Paul’s kisses on her torso. Normally, Paul would have done more foreplay, but, this time, he just wanted her to come. She soon began to gasp and, eventually, moan as Paul’s finger gently stroked her clitoris while his others stroked the right side of her neck.

Paul soon gained a satisfying rhythm, knowing exactly how to please her. His right palm, resting just below her belly button comforted and excited her—how could something so simple do that?

As her hips thrust, the thrill in her vagina built, and, eventually detonated as Paul brought her to orgasm. Afterward, Linda drew Paul close, savoring the warmth of his body.

While Paul snuggled with her, he internally remarked with pride at how easy it was to excite her. He kissed her on the cheek, asking if she wanted to take a bath together. Paul took Linda’s contented ‘mmm’ to mean ‘yes’.

 

Heather nervously awoke the next morning in unfamiliar surroundings. She remembered her mother had left the previous day; she was on Mrs. Finch’s sofa bed. Turning to her right and looking up a bit, she saw the framed picture of her mother. She missed her.

Heather pulled the white sheet, dark pink felt blanket and pink-and-yellow-flowered quilt to her chin, taking comfort in the softness and warmth of the sofa bed. Moving Kitty closer to her, she embraced him. The stuffed animal did likewise, his front legs around her neck and head resting on her left shoulder. As she lay on her right side, she stroked the back of Kitty’s head. Having no one else to hug, she tightly squeezed him. A snuggle with Kitty was always good, but immeasurably better when under the covers. Still with a heavy heart, she closed her eyes. Sleeping always made her feel better.

A few hours later, Heather awoke again, this time to the smell of bacon. She was hungry but not hungry enough to get out of bed. Heather silently lay in bed in a state halfway between slumber and lucidity, snuggling with Kitty under the covers. She wasn’t in the mood to talk with Mrs. Finch.

Walking back into the living room, Mrs. Finch noticed that Heather had awoken. She asked her what she wanted for breakfast; Heather said she didn’t know. Mrs. Finch ran through a list of things to eat—oatmeal, cold cereal and fruit, pancakes, a cheese omelet, scrambled eggs and bacon, an apple, leftover chocolate chip cookies—but Heather said no to all of them.

As Mrs. Finch made suggestions for what to eat, Heather rolled toward the picture of her mother. She glanced up at it, then slid further under the covers with, what felt like, her only friend in the apartment.

“Would you like to call and leave a message for your mom?” Mrs. Finch asked. “Get up, brush your teeth, wash your face and then you can call the messaging service, alright?”

“I won’t get to talk to her?” Heather was disappointed.

“Your mom didn’t leave a phone number where I could call her directly. She assured me that she would check her messaging service often. I’m sure she’ll get it, Heather. It’s time to get out of bed. It’s a beautiful sunny day outside!”

After much reluctance to leave her bed, Heather returned to the kitchen with her teeth brushed and face washed. Still in her baby pink nightgown with large roses and white lace trim, she was tired. Shouldn’t extra sleep give her extra energy?

She watched Mrs. Finch dial each number as she pet Kitty’s back. Heather took the receiver once Mrs. Finch had given the messaging service her name and telephone number. She told the lady on the phone, Gloria, to please tell her Mommy that she loved her lots, missed her just as much, to call her back and, most importantly, to come home soon. Gloria seemed to like that message and promised her mother would receive it. When Heather was done giving her very important message, she handed the receiver back to Mrs. Finch. Heather hoped her mother would call soon.

 

Linda awoke early Saturday afternoon with a headache. When she rolled over to snuggle with Paul, she discovered that she was alone. There was a hand written note propped next to the clock:

Lin,

I didn’t have the heart to wake you before I went to session at EMI. You looked absolutely knackered. I’ll be home later tonight. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.

Paul  
xoxo

Linda rolled back to the spot where she woke up. As she lay on her left side in the sea of luxurious Egyptian cotton that was Paul’s dark red pajamas, she wondered how Heather was doing; she missed her. She was also famished—the last time she had something to eat was on the plane.

She headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth. But where was her toothbrush? In her suitcase, which had not yet arrived…or had and she hadn’t heard the bell because she was asleep. Perhaps this was Paul’s idea of how to keep her out of her clothes. Mildly frustrated, she headed downstairs with Martha in tow. Eating would make her headache subside.

Linda shivered as soon as she placed her bare foot on the cold brown kitchen tile. Upon opening the refrigerator, she discovered a piece of moldy cheese and a carton of milk. Linda took a whiff of it and gagged. Sighing with frustration, she closed the door. Linda massaged her forehead in the hopes of easing her headache. Perhaps there would be something in the pantry. There, she found one small, lonely can of Heinz beans. It was better than nothing. She would have to find a can opener, though.

Martha whined as she searched for the can opener. Poor Martha was so hungry, though. Feeling like Old Mother Hubbard, Linda wondered what Martha would eat. Dogs and cats could eat beans in limited quantities. Unsure if they had onions in them, which could make Martha deathly ill, she chose to err on the side of caution. At least she could refill Martha’s water bowl.

Next to Martha’s water bowl was one marked ‘Thisbe’. Assuming that she would have met Thisbe by now if she was a dog, Linda figured Thisbe was his cat. She would give her (or him) some fresh water as well.

When Martha saw that she only received water, she whined again. “Sorry girl,” Linda said with a heavy heart, “there’s no food.” Hoping to comfort her, she scratched her on the head. “Oof,” she commented. “You really need a bath, Martha. Maybe that’d take your mind off being hungry.”

Linda’s stomach gurgled as she rifled through Paul’s kitchen drawers for a can opener. She felt guilty about going through Paul’s house as if it were her own but she was famished. As she opened the tin of Heinz Beans, Martha watched her intently and whined, making Linda feel even guiltier. Linda felt a cat circling her feet; she knew what Thisbe wanted. Linda couldn’t bear to eat in front of a starving dog and cat. She needed to eat somewhere else in the house. The only problem with her solution was that Martha and Thisbe had the advantage—they knew the house better than she did.

In the living room, Linda turned on the black and white television, which barely worked. The picture was cloudy at best and even when she turned the volume knob all the way up, she could still hear it only faintly. Turning off the television, she sat back on the stained couch. As she ate, her headache slowly disappeared. She looked everywhere but at Martha, who sat beside her anticipating a hand-out. Thisbe climbed on the couch, rubbing and head-butting her, in hopes that Linda would feed her.

Linda threw the tin in the garbage can, then opened the white painted French door to let Martha into the garden in case she needed to go to the bathroom. Martha did her business and came inside again. Linda picked up after her and then cleaned the litter box. Afterward, she washed her hands and ascended the stairs to pick up Paul’s clothes from the bedroom floor and give Martha a bath.


	8. Chapter 8

Paul returned home in the late afternoon, excited to see Linda. As he made his way through the small sea of gatebirds and their cruel comments and questions about Linda, his mood trended downward. All the while, he made sure that to hold onto the acetate he brought back from the studio while holding a cigarette in the other. He found Linda upstairs hanging clothes in his bedroom closet. Happy to see him, Martha jumped up to give him a kiss. He noticed how much better she smelled. Hungry, Martha quietly whined while looking up at her owner. Thisbe unhappily meowed a few times.

Linda greeted Paul as she gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Paul noticed that she was wearing the same clothes in which she had arrived. He also noticed how clean his bedroom was. Linda had made his bed and put away many of his clothes. He remarked with awe that “the room looks positively brilliant, Lin.” Paul was impressed—his home felt like a home, not like just a place to lay his head. “Thanks for cleaning up. You didn’t have to do that, love. The room hasn’t looked this good in a while.” He looked down at Martha, who was pawing his nice grey pants and whining for attention. “And Martha smells much better,” he complimented as he pet Martha, who was still whining. “What’s wrong, girl?”

“She’s famished. Martha’s been whining all day for food. Thisbe is hungry, too. The only thing I found in the pantry was a small can of Heinz beans. I would’ve shared it but, a lot of times, they have onions in them. The can didn’t have any ingredients. Dogs and cats can get really sick if they eat onions. The only other things you had were some spoiled milk and moldy cheese. Do you have anything I can give them? I can go out and get something. I’ve been giving Martha and Thisbe water but they really want food.”

The comfort from Martha’s snuggles and kisses faded. Paul kneeled in front of Linda, embarrassed. He felt terrible that she had cleaned up all day and now, he couldn’t even feed her, let alone his dog and cat. Sighing, he explained, “I could’ve sworn I had food in the house. I feel bloody awful about that, especially since you’ve been here all day cleaning. I didn’t even ask you, Lin.” Paul looked at the dusty brown carpet, rocking himself back and forth. A few seconds later, he continued, “Thisbe doesn’t eat as much as Martha. I usually send Rose, the housekeeper, but she’s been on late summer holiday with her husband since the middle of September. She isn’t coming back from until Wednesday. I feel awful that you’ve been here like a prisoner, cleaning up all day for me. And you’ve barely had a thing to eat. I’m so so sorry, Lin. Really, I just feel awful. Come to think of it, it’s been ages since I gave the girls money.” Paul saw Linda look at him, puzzled. He clarified “I mean the gatebirds—the girls who stand outside my gate all day and night. I give them money and they do chores for me sometimes, like going food shopping or walking Martha. Whatever’s left over, they keep. The shops aren’t open on Sunday so I can’t send them out now. I’ll give them money on Monday to get some food. Please will you forgive me?”

Linda listened as Paul finished his thoughts. When she grew up, there were servants and a cook. She supposed that Paul’s version of hired help were the girls who stood outside his door. Though, internally, she objected, she let Paul have his way. After all, she was a guest in his home (and for less than a day at that). For now, she would continue to take care of Paul, as she could tell how impressed he was and how much he enjoyed it. “I wasn’t mad, Paul. I was just asking.”

“Really? You’re not mad?”

“No, I’m not,” she replied as she returned Paul’s embrace. As a mother, she could discern that his embarrassment about not having any food in the house was really something more. “I’m excited that we’ll have food in the house, though. I can cook for you.”

Pulling back, he exclaimed “you can cook?!” The last person who lived in his house and cooked for him was his housekeeper, Rose (though she did not exactly do it out of the kindness of her heart—she did it because it was her job).

Linda giggled a bit. “I can. I do it for Heather all the time.”

Paul lit another cigarette. “What’s she like to eat?”

“Scrambled eggs. She loves them. And cheese omelets, potatoes of any kind, cookies, cheese pizza, pasta, apples and peanut butter…”

“Peanut butter?”

“You’ve never had peanut butter, Paul?” He shook his head ‘no’. “It’s a paste made of ground up peanuts.”

Paul made a face. “It sounds quite awful.”

“Millions of Americans would disagree with you, especially kids. That’s a staple of Heather’s diet. It’s good for you, too—it gives her protein. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“What’s it taste like?”

“It tastes like…peanuts, except in a paste,” she explained while laughing a little. “They add a little bit of salt to it, too. Sometimes, I’ll drizzle some honey on Heather’s peanut butter sandwich. She loves that.” She changed the topic to see if Paul would discuss what was bothering him. “How was the studio?” she asked.

“Fine,” Paul said coolly, clearing his throat. “I brought back an acetate of a song we just finished mixing this one a few hours ago. I want you to listen to it. Come ‘ead,” he said, taking Linda’s hand. As he led Linda upstairs to his third floor music room, he told her that the song was called “Happiness Is A Warm Gun In Your Hand”. Though surprised by the violent title, Linda couldn’t wait to hear it; she had to quell her urge to seem more excited than she was. She first heard the hiss of the acetate came over the speakers, then John’s powerful voice. In the background, she heard Paul’s harmonizing with George’s. And, right next to her was the man who helped to write and record that song.

Linda was wowed by not only the song, but also by the fact that she was probably the first person outside the Beatles’ inner sanctum to hear it. She told Paul how much she loved it, telling him that she liked how different their sound was from previous albums.

Paul was proud that Linda had noticed and happy that all of the fighting in the studio wasn’t evident to outsiders. Struggling to distract himself, he then showed Linda all of the machines and instruments in his music. Thisbe fought for attention by jumping onto the equipment. Paul was going to put her down but Linda chose to hold her.

Linda didn’t care that Paul was trying to impress her but could also tell that Paul was trying to distract himself. As a fan, she was excited to listen to how the band created all those famous songs from a simple idea. Linda seized on the lull in the conversation. “You alright, Paul?”

“Yeah, love. Never been better,” he forcefully smiled. He distracted himself by playfully stamping out his cigarette butt.

“You sure?” she asked as she set Thisbe down.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m alright. I’m, uh, I’m good.”

“What’d you do at the studio?”

Thisbe wound around Paul’s feet to comfort him. Paul could feel the emotion concentrate in his throat before he spoke. “We, um, we just recorded, y’know. We discussed the arrangements of the songs, the lyrics and everything and…”. Paul paused to take a deep breath, then continued “…and we just…uh, we…” Holding his hands tightly, he bit his lip. Unable to look at Linda any more, he looked down at Martha and Thisbe. When a tear fell on Martha, she jumped up to touch Paul’s nose.

Linda put her hands on Paul’s back. “Come here,” she said gently.

As errant tears streamed down his face, he apologized “I’m sorry.”

Linda gave him a long kiss on his left cheek, standing there while Paul cried. After a few minutes, Linda suggested that they go downstairs and get some tissues. Unsurprisingly, she couldn’t find any so she gave him toilet paper instead.

“Thank you,” he sighed through a whisper as he sat on the bed. Martha and Thisbe sat by his side, in the hopes that the warmth from their body would cheer up their loving master. “I’m sorry, Lin,” he repeated.

“There’s no need to be sorry, Paul. Sometimes, you have so much emotion inside you that the best thing to do is cry.”

Linda’s comfort and understanding was a very welcome change from Francie’s standing there and doing nothing. He leaned toward her for another long hug. Martha and Thisbe relieved some of his worry but Paul really just needed a human touch right now.

Linda gave Paul another kiss on his left cheek as she ran her fingers through his clean hair. She and Paul sat there, hugging, as Linda rubbed his back. Occasionally, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, which he always returned.

With every second of the embrace, Paul felt his energy and happiness gradually return. He closed his eyes to concentrate on his breathing.

“Did you want to talk about it?” she quietly asked.

Paul could tell that Linda was genuinely interested, though she still had to coax him to talk. He had buried his emotion for so long that, by now, he was used to it.

“No,” he said, his voice shaking as he wiped away tears. “I don’t want to bother you. It’s alright, Lin. It’s not important. Tell me more about Heather.”

Linda knew that Paul’s avoidance of the subject meant that he was truly holding back. “You’re not bothering me, Paul. I asked because I care. I know that I always feel better after I’ve said what’s bothering me. The worry just…dissipates. And, often, this frightening problem doesn’t seem quite so frightening after you say it to someone else. We don’t have to, though. It can be difficult to put emotions into words.”

Sighing, Paul frowned. Though Linda’s words were sweet, internally, he still grappled with his guilt. Linda had been here for less than a day and, already, the visit was an embarrassing disaster—no food, starved animals and, now, crying to his guest about his silly problems. ‘Linda must think I’m an awful host,’ thought Paul as he fought tears.

Seeing that Paul was still deliberating, Linda put her right hand on Paul’s left. Looking up, she told him “I’d really like to help, Paul.” Martha barked, as if she was confirming Linda’s sincerity.

Paul gave a half-smile. “You’re serious? You really want to hear?”

“Absolutely. I know you’ll feel better afterward.”

An expression of relief grew on Paul’s face. “Thank you,” he softly said in Linda’s ear as he gave her a grateful hug. Linda gave him a kiss on the cheek, internally remarking at how sad it was that Paul felt that his only options, until now, were to bottle his emotions and put on a face. Even sadder, it seemed as though he didn’t have anyone who would listen to his concerns. Linda decided that she would fulfill that role, which it seemed he desperately needed.

Sighing again, Paul poured his heart out to Linda, detailing every frustration about the band—him drifting apart from John, John’s dependence on Yoko, George’s anger toward him and John, Ringo temporarily quitting and all the fighting and animosity between everyone.

Though the things Paul was saying sounded grim, Linda tried her best to find the silver lining without giving him false hope or meddling too much in the band’s affairs. She emphasized their talent and that they were still able to work together as a band to create great songs, just like “Happiness Is A Warm Gun In Your Hand”.

Paul felt as emotionally cleansed as a freshly sponged chalkboard. He marveled that Linda cared enough to listen and to give him sincere encouragement.

“Better?”

“I really do, love. I don’t know how you did it, but it worked. I feel much better. Ta ra,” he said, giving Linda a kiss. Her reassurance was a revelation—she improved his mood better than coke ever did or could, especially when he felt depressed.

“I’m glad,” she sincerely replied.

“Lin?” Paul inquired after he lit his cigarette. “How’d you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I was upset.”

“Magic,” she smiled. Paul chuckled a bit. Genuinely, she told him “it’s just something that I’ve noticed. I don’t like to see other people upset.”

With his left hand, Paul guided Linda’s face to his, giving her a heartfelt kiss on her supple lips. “That’s very sweet. Thank you. I really do feel better.” Taking another drag, he then asked, “would you like to come back to the studio with me? I could use a friend.” Everyone seemed to be on their best behavior when they had a guest. John had Yoko, so why couldn’t he have Linda? Plus, there was food there so she wouldn’t starve.

When Linda heard Paul ask, she tried to contain her excitement. She, of course, accepted his invitation to watch the most famous band in the world at work. At the same time, Paul’s words struck a chord of sadness—“I could use a friend.” Perhaps things really were as dire as Paul had described.

“Paul,” she asked, shifting tones, “do you know where my suitcase is? It hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Nobody works on Sunday…well, except The Beatles, I suppose. It won’t arrive until tomorrow. You’ll just have to sleep in my pajamas.” With a naughty grin he added “or nude.”

She smirked. “It’s a little too chilly now to sleep nude.”

“All the more reason to cuddle then,” Paul said as he pulled Linda close.


	9. Chapter 9

Paul and Linda walked back to the house from Abbey Road in the peaceful early morning air. It was difficult to believe that this was “swinging London”. It was also difficult to believe how much animosity there was between everyone at the session. This was certainly not The Beatles that she and the rest of the world knew; it was obvious that each of them had matured and grown apart. Now she understood why Paul was so sad at times—he was watching something he helped to build slowly fall apart. Linda was fighting closing her eyes as she walked, as it was almost 7:30 in the morning in New York.

Before they went to bed to share some pot, she told Paul she was going to cut up an apple for Martha that she had taken from the studio. It was a miracle she was able to find anything there suitable for a dog or cat to eat. Most of what was there was tea, biscuits and plenty of cigarettes. Paul was touched that Linda would even try to find something that Martha and Thisbe could eat. He told her he would cut it up, as she was knackered. Linda watched him cut what he could from the apple; she was amused at his lack of skills in the kitchen. Linda cut the rest of what she could from the core. Impatiently, Martha waited. Once she had the slices, she gobbled it up. A hungry Thisbe jumped on the counter; Paul had never seen her so eager to eat. He fed her the bite-sized pieces of apple Linda had cut. After she ate enough to sustain herself, she walked away. Martha eagerly ate Thisbe’s rations.

The next morning, Linda awoke to a cat alarm clock—Thisbe’s claws walking on her torso. She tried Paul first but he groaned and rolled over. Linda could feel the coolness of the sheets against her skin; she had gotten warm in Paul’s pajamas under the covers during the night. Now cold, she carefully reached behind her so as to not wake Paul. His roomy shirt and the covers warmed her.

Hearing that someone was up, Martha marched to Linda’s side of the bed. Linda heard her whining. “Soon, Martha, soon,” she whispered as she scratched Thisbe. To appease Martha, Linda reached her left hand down to happily give Martha scratches between her ears. Martha kissed Linda’s left hand to show her appreciation. Linda looked at the clock, translating the current time to New York time while she mindlessly scratched Thisbe. It was early morning there. Heather would be home from school in a few hours—perhaps she could call her before she went to bed.

Not wanting Thisbe to hog the attention, Martha put her front paws next to where Linda lay in bed. She knew enough to not bark while her owner was asleep. Linda scratched her between the ears until Martha could no longer hold onto the bed. After that, she sat on the floor beside Linda and whined again. “Me too, Martha,” Linda whispered. Suddenly, she had an idea.

Getting into the same skirt and sweater she had worn since she landed, she went outside. Linda felt guilty as she left Martha scratching at the door. As she approached the gatebirds, she heard mumbles.

“Look, girls, it’s the new Francie. Paul’s going to use you up eventually, you know. You’re only here for sex just like the rest of ‘em,” one of them said.

Despite their jagged edges, Linda let the pointed words roll off her. “Hello, ladies. Could one of you please go out and get Martha some dog food and Thisbe some cat food? Paul doesn’t have anything in the house. I’ll give you money.”

Ignoring her plea, the same girl snidely asked, “where’s Paul?”

“He’s upstairs asleep.” Linda knew that if she could guilt the girls somehow, she could get them to get Paul’s pets some food. “Paul told me that you sometimes do chores for him, like walking Martha. If I give one of you money, could you please get Martha some cans of dog food and Thisbe some cans of cat food? I’m not even sure where the closest market is. Plus, you’d know what they like better than I would. You can even keep the change.”

“What makes you think we’ll help you?! You’re sleeping with him and you’re not even good enough. All of us are more qualified. We’ve been here for years! You’ve only been here for a day. Plus, you’re just an American. He should be with a British girl.” Among the staunch agreement from the gatebirds was one “come off it, Edith!”

“Shut it, Daisy!” Edith snapped. “Forget it, bitch,” she told Linda. “Go wake Paul up and have him ask us. Your money’s no good here. It’s American money anyway. Go back from where you came, Yankee slag!”

“Look,” Linda said frankly, “the food isn’t even for me. It’s for the dog and cat. Paul’s dog and cat. When I woke up this morning, Martha was whining again. Thisbe is hungry, too. But Martha’s absolutely starving and I feel terrible about that. You’re going to deny a starving dog and cat food?”

“Paul likes us better than you. We all hate you, slag,” Edith taunted. She continued rudely, “you know that we’re your competition so you want to get rid of us. It’s a ploy. I bet Martha and Thisbe are fine. Either that or you’ve been preventing Paul from feeding them. You left yesterday and didn’t bring her back anything. That’s downright cruel. I should go tell the police.”

Linda was beginning to lose her patience. She didn’t feel the need to defend herself to the gatebirds by telling them that she had brought Martha and Thisbe an apple when she came home. “I can bring Martha out here. She’s famished! So is Thisbe.” Pleading, Linda asked, “please could one of you go to get some food for them?”

“I’ll do it,” Daisy timidly offered as she raised her hand.

“You’re not going, Daisy!” snapped Edith again, reaching for Daisy’s hair. “If you do, you’re not coming back. You’re going to help the Yank scrubber?! TRAITOR!”

“Don’t pull her hair!” yelled Linda.

“Ow!” yelped Daisy. “What’d you do that for?!?!”

“You’ll get another if you help the slag,” threatened Edith. The rest of the gatebirds grumbled with stern approval while Linda gasped.

Edith was always making threats, most of which were empty. This was one of the first times she had become vicious. Daisy had always longed to stand up to her, but wouldn’t; as the undisputed head gatebird, Edith would make it her business to prevent Daisy from continuing to hang around. Paul was her favorite and she didn’t want to miss her chances of seeing him.

In the end, Daisy’s fondness for Blue, her family’s Irish setter, won her heart. As she stepped forward to get the fiver from Linda, Edith pushed her back. Struggling, Daisy attempted to push forward but Edith was too strong.

“Edith, don’t push Daisy! Let her through,” said Linda in her motherly voice.

“Who asked you, munter?! Piss off!” hissed Edith. Daisy, again, attempted to move forward in vain. Yelling started among the crowd and the two unexpected boxers.

“Stop it! Stop fighting!” shouted Linda. She felt guilty and angry that her simple request had escalated to such pettiness. “Let Daisy through!”

Edith spit in Linda’s direction but missed.

Downstairs, Martha barked constantly. Paul’s eyes burst open. Finding Linda gone from the bed, he yelled her name. Martha responded with more angry barking. Paul’s musical ears could hear Linda outside. Rushing downstairs, he stormed outside and left the front door ajar. Martha bounded outside and, protectively, barked at the gatebirds. As Paul irately approached the gate, the gatebirds admonished Edith and Daisy to stop fighting.

Linda looked over to see an angry, barefooted, tousled-haired Paul in his cute paisley pajamas. Instinctively, he put his arm around Linda. Martha continued barking until Paul crossly told her to stop.

“ **Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing, eh?!** ” Paul furiously taunted the gatebirds. His Liverpool accent thickened. “This is _my_ house and all ye do is lark about and push me buzzer incessantly! You lot have lives and other things t’ do! _Piss the fuck off! **GO ON THEN!**_ ”

The gatebirds stood there, shocked. They had rarely seen Paul this angry. Though tense from the yelling, Linda tried to diffuse the situation.

“Paul, Paul,” she soothed as she looked at him while holding his left hand.

“ _YOU HEARD ME—THE WHOLE LOT OF YE BEST LEAVE!_ ” Paul egged.

“Paul, I was asking if someone would get food for Martha and Thisbe. When I woke up this morning, Martha was whining again. I felt badly for her so I came downstairs to give someone money to get them some food. I was just a scuffle. Are you alright, Daisy?”

“Yeah,” Daisy answered somberly.

“It’s ok, Paul. It’s ok,” Linda reassured him. Normally, the gatebirds would have taunted and booed, but this time, they were too frightened. Some of the newer ones left, shaken.

Paul put his right hand on Linda’s shoulder. “Are you alright, Lin?”

“I’m fine, Paul. I’m fine.”

Relieved, Paul let out an exasperated sigh. In the seconds that passed, he felt some remorse but mostly pride for defending Linda from the wolves at his gate. Hoping to quickly put the situation past him, he changed topics. “Can one of you lot go out to get some food for Martha and Thisbe please?” Every gatebird’s hand immediately shot up, visually pleading that Paul would pick them. “Alright, let me get some Big Bens. Come ‘ead, love,” he said, grabbing Linda’s hand.

Once inside, he gave Linda a hug. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. You sure you’re alright?” Linda assured him that she was. “I appreciate you going out there but I wish you wouldn’t’ve.”

“I saw that you were asleep and didn’t want to wake you since you got home so late last night. You mentioned that sometimes you asked the gatebirds to do errands. I figured that if I said it was for you, they’d do it. Or, at least, have sympathy for a starving dog and cat.”

“They don’t have sympathy for any woman who comes here.” Promptly realizing what he had inferred, he slickly recovered by saying “…not that many women have come here.”

“And I’m British,” Linda said with a wink.

“Where ye from, love?” Paul joked in a thickened Liverpool accent.

“A former British colony called America. You know—British by association,” Linda sarcastically replied.

Paul laughed a little, then told Linda he was going upstairs to get some money to give to a gatebird for dog food as well as some eggs and milk for them. Turning serious, she asked, “will you let Daisy get the food?”

“Alright. But how do you know the gatebird’s names?”

“Edith used Daisy’s name when she yelled at her.”

“Edith,” Paul sighed. “That bird’s a proper nutter. I’m just going upstairs to get me wallet.” When he came downstairs again, he found Linda at the foot of the stairs with Thisbe in her lap.

“She’s taken a real liking to you. Normally, she’s wary of strangers. She doesn’t even like John this much and he loves cats.”

“Dogs are usually more immediately trusting than cats,” Linda commented as she stroked Thisbe’s light grey tabby fur. “Cats can be really sweet if you give them time.”

As Paul sat on the bottom stair next to Linda, Martha trotted to his feet; he vigorously petted her fur. “I’m sorry about this whole mess, Lin. I didn’t intend for this to happen.” With delight, Martha started licking his hand.

“Martha doesn’t seem to mind,” Linda smiled. “I don’t either—that’s just a part of life, Paul. Sometimes unexpected things happen.”

Paul silently accepted Linda’s comment. He was amazed and relieved she understood. She always seemed to take life as it happened. “But, I mean…how do you do that? How do you just let things roll off you?”

“Being a mother teaches you a lot about accepting things as they come.” Linda scratched Thisbe under her chin. “Sometimes, kids don’t want to do what you want them to. Most of the time, Heather’s good. She’s pretty easygoing. But, sometimes, she just doesn’t want to cooperate. She has a little tantrum, so you’ve got to deal with it. You learn. It gets easier over time.”

Paul could hear Thisbe purring loudly. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I’ve seen kids throw fits. I feel bad for the parents when it happens in public. And I feel bad for the kids who’re screamin’ and cryin’.” As he rubbed Martha’s belly, he continued “I’ve calmed me cousins down sometimes at reunions ‘n’ stuff. They like to be sung to, especially before going to bed.”

Linda’s affection for Paul grew. He seemed to genuinely like children. “What do you sing to them?”

“Rock ‘n’ roll stuff. Before they go to bed, I’ll sing ‘em lullabies. They also like it when I read them stories. So,” he said as Martha smiled at him, “why’d you ask if Daisy could get the food?”

“She bravely volunteered. Edith pushed her back to try to prevent her from getting the money I had.”

Paul shook his head and said “nutter”.

“Do they stand out there all the time?”

“Yeah. Even when I’m on holiday, they’ll stay out there. Rain, snow, scorching heat, it doesn’t matter—they never leave. They mostly want pictures and autographs. Some of ‘em are nice. I’ve invited a couple of ‘em in for tea when there were only one or two outside. But, mostly, they’re a bother. They’ll keep ringing the intercom at all hours to get my attention. And anyone who comes over to the house has to walk through the crowd of ‘em to even get close to the gate.”

“Have they ever tried to sneak in after someone?” she asked, as Paul took out his lighter.

“A couple times but they know not to any more.” Paul omitted the fact that, on more than one occasion, the gatebirds had broken into his house to steal things, mostly from his bedroom. “Come ‘ead, let’s give these Big Bens to the gatebirds so we can eat. Is there anything you want?”

“What were you gonna to get?”

“Milk, tea, sausages, eggs, bread, dog food and cat food.”

“Sounds great.”

Upon opening the door, the gatebirds instantly clamored for his attention again. Linda and Martha came outside with him. When Martha began barking at the gatebirds again, Linda crouched down to pet and comfort her.

Paul took a drag from his cigarette. “Where’s Daisy?” he asked. Cringing with excitement, Daisy raised her hand. “Come ‘ead, darling.”

This time, Daisy was successfully able to make her way to the gate. Edith gave her a cold stare but didn’t dare do anything else in Paul’s presence, for fear of angering him.

“Daisy, could you get some tins of dog food and cat food, a carton of eggs, a carton of milk, tea bags, a loaf of bread and some sausages for me, please?” he said, giving her two ten pound notes. Daisy shook her head ‘yes’. “You can keep the change. Ta, darling.” After saying goodbye to all the girls to make nice, he walked into the house holding Linda’s hand.


	10. Chapter 10

Forty-five minutes later, Daisy returned with exactly what Paul requested. He politely thanked her and took it into the house. Famished, Linda scrambled four eggs, cooked four sausages and toasted two slices of bread to split between them. Martha devoured her dog food in a matter of minutes, then begged for sausages. She would’ve eaten Thisbe’s if she wasn’t eating hers. The clanking of silverware against the plates replaced conversation. After Paul had shoveled the food into his mouth, he thanked Linda for breakfast while lighting a cigarette.

An hour later, Linda’s suitcase conveniently arrived. Before he left for the studio, he gave Linda plenty of money, telling her to get whatever she wanted from the market delivered to the house.

“Do you have the market’s number?”

“No. I don’t know the name either. Just ring the operator and ask ‘er for the closest one. Rose gets food from the closest market delivered.”

“Is there anything you want in particular?”

Paul paused in thought. He probably needed everything in the house. “Get whatever you want. I’m sure I need pretty much everything besides what Daisy got already.”

Linda played mother, asking him “well, what do you like?”

“Oh, I dunno…”

“Should I buy out the market then?” she smirked.

“Good idea. Then we’ll have more time to go to bed,” Paul grinned. Though his sex drive wasn’t completely what it once was, Linda had certainly helped to restore some of it. “Get whatever you want, love, as long as it includes tea, cream and HobNobs.”

‘Paul’s diet is about as round as Heather’s’, Linda thought. “What time’ll you be home?”

Tapping his cigarette ash into the sink, “I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’d like to make you something for dinner.”

Paul smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time someone made him a home-cooked meal. “I’ll be home, but I can’t promise when. Hand on heart that I’ll be home, though.”

After she kissed him goodbye and wished him well at the studio, she made a grocery list.

 

The groceries promptly arrived. Linda figured the market must have known who they were for. She had bought everything from the basics—tea, butter and cream—to condiments—salt and pepper—to meat, cheese, vegetables, fruit, more cat and dog food, tuna fish and, of course, biscuits. Linda was looking forward to making Paul home cooked meals. 

Paul returned to the house to find a stocked pantry and refrigerator, a rarity. He and Linda sat down for tea and biscuits of all sorts. Martha had her own version—water and dog biscuits. Thisbe received half a can of tuna as a treat. Linda apologized that she didn’t have dinner ready; when she tried to start the oven, it wouldn’t work. Linda offered to make him more breakfast instead, but Paul insisted Linda take a break; she had been busy all day. He would order Chinese takeaway.

While they waited for the takeaway, they discussed what happened in the studio, most of which was fighting. Linda comforted Paul, holding his hand and offering encouraging words. Somehow, that brought them to the topic of existentialism. When the food arrived, they didn’t even bother to take it out of the containers. Instead, they went upstairs to continue their discussion.

After dinner, she began cleaning their utensils and some pots and pans from the morning. Paul told her that she could put them in the dishwasher. Linda had never seen one. When she asked Paul how it worked, he couldn’t tell her; he had only seen Mrs. Kelly load it. Thankfully, when Linda figured out how to start the dishwasher, it worked. Ironically, the first appliance in his house that worked was something used to clean it.

Once the dishes were loaded, Linda asked Paul if she could check her messaging service. Her heart ached when she received Heather’s message, telling her how much she missed her already. When she told Paul that she would reimburse him for the call but he insisted that he would pay. “Come off it, Lin!—she misses her Mummy. Go on, love. Chat for as long as you like,” Paul explained.

Mrs. Finch answered the telephone in the kitchen. As soon as Heather heard her mother’s name, she screamed “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Can I talk to her? Please please please?”

Mrs. Finch smiled through her bit of heartache—Heather really missed her mother. Since she left the message, Heather had been asking when her mother would call. “I’d ask you about your trip but I think there’s someone here who wants to talk to you more.” She handed the phone to Heather.

“Mommy!”

“Heather,” she smiled. “How are you?”

“Mommy, I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, sweetie pie.” Paul smiled at Linda, who looked happy but disappointed as she made the comment—Heather must have said how much she wanted Linda to come home. “What’ve you been doing with Mrs. Finch?” Linda asked as she bent down to pet Martha.

“We made chocolate chip cookies. I helped! Mrs. Finch said that I was a good helper.”

Linda stood up and leaned against the wall in the kitchen. As soon as she stopped, Martha jumped up and barked to get Linda’s attention. Paul coaxed Martha into the living room to give Linda peace.

“Mommy, a dog just barked!”

“She did. There’s a dog in the house where I am right now. Her name is Martha. She’s very friendly.” Changing topics, she said “you must’ve had fun baking cookies. Did you enjoy them?”

“Yeah! But Mrs. Finch wouldn’t let me eat them when they were warm. She says it’d make my heart go on fire. It was so mean. The cookies smelled so good! I had to wait forever to eat them.”

Linda chuckled “you mean heartburn, Heather. Mrs. Finch is right—eating warm cookies can give you heartburn. She wasn’t being mean, she was just looking out for you.”

From the living room, Paul couldn’t help but eavesdrop. Heather sounded like any young child who missed their Mum.

Heather got quiet as she played with Kitty’s tail. “Mommy, are you really in London?”

“Yes, I really am in London.”

“Is it far away?” Heather curiously asked.

“Yes, it’s very far away from New York City.”

“You don’t sound far away,” Heather stated simply.

Linda chuckled. “That’s the magic of the telephone, Heather.”

“Are you taking pictures with your camera?”

“I am,” Linda lied. “Are you excited about school on Monday again? Grandma and Grandpa are going to pick you up from school tomorrow and you’re going to stay with them.”

The line grew quiet as Heather said “no,” resentfully. “Mommy, I don’t want to go.”

“You won’t be all alone, Heather. Grandma and grandpa will take you to school. They’ll make sure you’re ok,” she reassured. “Grandma and Grandpa love you.”

“Yeah,” Heather said in passing as she held Kitty close to her right cheek.

“Cheer up, sweetie. You’ll be ok.”

Heather stayed quiet, rocking back and forth by pivoting on her feet. That was not what she wanted to hear.

Linda continued, “since tonight is your last night at Mrs. Finch’s, make sure you tell her thank you for letting you stay there.”

“Ok.”

“Good girl.”

Heather held Kitty up to her ear, listening to what he was whispering to her. “Mommy, Kitty misses you too.”

“I miss him, too. Give him a hug for me.”

Perking up at her mother’s comment, Heather did as she was instructed. “He liked that,” she smiled. “He loves you.”

“I love him, too. And I love you, Heather,” she told her daughter as she watched Paul playing tug-of-war with Martha in the living room.

“I love you too, Mommy.”

“Can you put Mrs. Finch on the phone for me?”

“Ok. Bye Mommy. I love you.” As she handed the phone to Mrs. Finch, Heather thanked her for letting her stay there. Mrs. Finch smiled back, telling her that she enjoyed it.

Linda talked with Mrs. Finch for a short while, telling her the bare minimum about her trip thus far—she had taken some pictures of London but no rock stars just yet. At Mrs. Finch’s insistence, she also reviewed the instructions and phone numbers for where to meet Linda’s father and stepmother. After thanking her again, she hung up the phone.

Though Linda had only been here two days, she had a good feeling about her and Paul. She enjoyed spending time with him and mothering him a bit. Linda liked that Paul could be open with his feelings and even cry; she saw it as a sign of maturity. Being macho was overrated anyway.

Paul noticed that Linda had casually omitted details about where she was staying and what she was doing. There was a part of him that was hurt that she didn’t do so. He knew, however, that it could be a shock for her daughter to hear what her Mummy was really doing.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hello?”

“Morning Cyn, it’s Paul.”

Hearing Paul’s friendly voice put Cynthia Lennon at ease. “Hello Paul, it’s nice to hear from you.”

“How have you been?”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Cyn tentatively answered. “I’m getting on.” She used to get together with George and Pattie or Ringo and Mo for dinner or a night out. But, these past few months since John had left her for Yoko Ono, she felt isolated. The only person who still kept in contact with her was Paul.

“Oh,” Paul said sadly. “That must be difficult. I’m sure things will pick up soon. They always do. Is Julian alright, though?”

“He’s getting on, too” Cyn hesitated. “He’s getting used to John not being here. He wasn’t here often but when he was, Julian always wanted his attention. Sometimes, he still asks for him. He asks for you too, Paul.”

Paul’s face lit up. “Does he?”

“He always enjoys playing and laughing with you, Paul, especially when you play pirates together. Julian could get lost for hours.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Julian,” Paul fondly mused as Martha trotted to his feet. “Do you have time today for me to come see him?”

Cyn breathed a sigh of relief. “Would you really?”

“Of course, Cyn.”

“Julian would love that. I think it’d make him feel better to see a friendly, familiar face. Julian got used to seeing people because people were over all the time when John lived here. But, now…it’s a bit lonely.”

Scratching his head, then Martha’s, he said, “I understand, Cyn. Divorce…a friend is always good, y’know. You need me to bring anything along for you or Julian?”

“No, I can’t think of anything but thank you for offering,” Cyn gracefully said.

“It’s no trouble,” Paul coughed, then, tentatively asked “would it, uh, would it be alright if I brought a mate of mine along? Her name is Linda and she’s been staying with me for a bit. She’s just lovely. She has a daughter about Julian’s age in New York. I think you’d like her. She’s very kind. Maybe it’d be nice to have someone else to talk to, y’know?”

“Sure, Paul,” Cyn gently obliged. She knew Julian could use some of the genuine father-like attention that Paul always gave him. Admittedly, though, she could use a friend, too. “So I’ll see you and Linda later today?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you and Julian later. Goodbye, Cyn.” Looking at Martha, he said “let’s get you your brekkie, then.” Enthusiastically, Martha barked. “Shhh, you’ll wake the wife,” he half-joked.

 

Linda peacefully awoke at about 11:00. The sun shone gently through the curtains, reminding her of her Dirty Weekend with Paul. She could feel the weight and warmth of Paul sitting next to her. As soon as he saw her stir, he happily wished her “good morning, Lin. How’d you sleep?”

Martha walked to Linda’s side of the bed and stood on her front paws. “Mmm…good,” Linda sleepily replied as she rolled toward Martha. “Good morning, Martha,” she quietly smiled as she gave Martha a vigorous pet. In return, Martha gave her left hand a few good licks. “You want to get up?” Martha promptly lifted herself onto the bed (with a little help from Linda. As Martha turned around and settled near Paul and Linda’s feet, Linda asked “what about you, Paul?”

“I slept well, too, Lin.” Contentedly, Paul commented “I love it when Martha sits near my feet in bed. My brother Mike and I always wanted a dog when we were younger but me dad said ‘no’ because we didn’t have enough money. Waking up with a dog next to me was always a wish ‘til I got Martha two years ago. It amazes me that dogs can meet you, sniff you, from just that, be able to tell if you’re friendly or not. Like that, they’ll either start licking you or growling. They can even tell if you’re happy or sad…even if they’ve never met you! I mean, once, I remember once, when I was walking back from the bus stop after school, I was maybe 15. I’d had a terrible time at school that day—I don’t remember why, it was just one of those days where nothing seems to go right. I was in a right mood and all I wanted to do was go home and play me guitar. Up ahead, someone was walking their dog on the pavement, a little white Bichon Frise. As I got closer, the dog jumped up a couple of times and I felt his front paws on my legs. He was trying to get me to smile, almost as if he knew I was in a mood. And, you know what, Lin? It worked. After the dog did that, I felt better. I bent down and started petting him and then he started licking me hand and nudging my arm. He loved it! I could’ve stayed there for hours just playing with Santa Claus if his owner hadn’t been there—the dog’s name was Santa Claus,” he smiled. “I didn’t even know him and he just wanted me to smile…I’ll never forget that. Dogs know somehow, almost like they have a sixth sense or something. Cats do, too, but there’s just something really special about a dog, y’know?”

“I do,” Linda fondly whispered. “My horses did that for me, too. I could just be there for hours talking to them while I brushed their coats and their manes. Horses are marvelous listeners. My horses were some of my best friends when I was younger. I didn’t have too many.”

“Why not, Lin? You’re so friendly.”

Linda shrugged. “I preferred sitting in the fields by my house and watching the birds and bugs and sitting in the sunshine. So many people in our neighborhood thought that the only place to be was somewhere on the social calendar but I always thought that was boring. Nature is so much more interesting and beautiful. If you just sit quietly and let it come to you, it’s beautiful. Sometimes, I’d go exploring on my own in the woods, lifting up rocks or pieces of wood and I’d find salamanders.”

Paul yawned, covering his mouth. “Sorry, Lin. What’re salamanders?”

“They’re lizards that live under rocks but some of them live in the water, too. They are black and have yellow spots.”

Raising his eyebrows, he realized “we have those here except they’re called newts. Are salamanders lizards?”

“Yeah, they are,” Linda said as she snuggled closer to Paul.

“I used to do some of those same things. I’d go off exploring in the woods near my house and see what I could find. I’d also look for birds sometimes, too. I’d get the guide out and try to find the picture that matched the bird and then read all about the bird—like how they lived and stuff like that. Then, when I got a little bit older I was in the Scouts, which is like our version of the Boy Scouts. We called ourselves the Panther Patrol and we thought we were all well hip. We’d go out camping and learning about nature and the woods and treating other people with respect…I think that’s the same sort of thing you do in the Boy Scouts. But, then, I got too old or too cool for the Scouts and just explored again on me own. I never stopped doing it completely but I did it less frequently when um,…when me mum got sick.”

Hearing the sadness in her owner’s voice, Martha whined. “It’s alright, girl,” he shakily reassured her. Martha stood up and moved closer to Paul. Cocking her head to the side, she looked at him, as if to say “are you ok?” Sitting up, Paul and Linda both reassured Martha with a pet. After Martha saw that Paul felt better, she turned herself around and sat down on the bed again, this time atop Paul’s calves.

Rubbing Linda’s arm, Paul marveled “I can’t believe you were doing the same thing as me all the way across the pond…and at the same time, too. What’re the odds, love?” Paul took their discussion as a sign of fate. It also began to cement the idea that, perhaps, Linda could truly be the woman for whom he longed.

“It’s very interesting,” Linda agreed. “I was always very happy when I saw a deer. They’re so graceful and elegant. People complained about the deer eating their plants or that there were too many of them. Some people even wanted to extend the deer hunting season so they could kill more of them. The government called it something very pat and non-violent sounding but it was terrible. It was the people who were encroaching on the deer’s habitat! So, every time I saw a deer, I became very happy for them because they were still alive, almost like they were thumbing their noses at society. Did you have an animal that you always liked to see when you went exploring?” Silence passed and then Linda repeated “Paul?...Paul?”

“Huh?!” Paul asked, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lin.”

Linda shifted her weight to the other side of the bed. “Never mind,” she told him, getting up to go to the bathroom.

Clasping her hand, he encouraged “come ‘ead, love. I was just in my head before. I’ll listen this time—honest.”

“Hold that thought,” she told him from outside the bathroom door.

Getting back into bed minutes later, Linda scooted back toward Paul, who welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek as they continued their conversation.

“I love a good lie-in,” Paul sighed. “There’s nothing I’d rather do, to be honest.”

With a raised eyebrow, Linda asked “nothing?”

Paul was unable to contain his smile. “Well,” he laughed, “I could think of something.”

Slipping her right hand into his boxers, she felt him grow hard. “So could I,” she smiled back. At the same time, Paul slid his hand up her pajama top, his fingers feeling the familiar curve of her breast. Slowly, he moved his calloused fingers down to the flatness of her stomach. As he did so, he softly, he blew under her right ear, setting Linda’s heart aflutter as she amorously giggled. In return, she tugged on his boxers so she could mount him.

“Ladies first,” he adamantly informed her in her ear.

Her radiant smile reassured him that he had made an intelligent choice.

 

Paul cuddled beside Linda, holding her hand. Seeing that they had finished, Martha joined them.

“I’m hungry, Paul. I’m probably going to make myself an omelet and maybe some bacon. Did you want some, too?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m hungry too, Lin. But I thought you were hungry earlier this morning,” he winked.

“I was,” she teased. “But now my stomach is hungry. I’ll get up in a little bit.”

“I called Cyn earlier this morning,” he started.

“Cyn?”

“John’s wife…well, ex-wife. He moved out of the house in May. Cyn came home and found him in bed with Yoko. Now it’s just her and Julian.”

“Oh,” Linda empathized. “That’s very sad. I can empathize, though.”

“Yeah,” Paul sighed, agreeing. “I feel quite bad for Julian because he’s caught in the middle of it all. When John and Cyn were still together in the early days, I’d go over to the house to write songs with John. After we were done, I’d end up playing with Julian. John didn’t really know how to play with him.”

Confused, Linda asked, “what do you mean?”

“Well, once, I was over at John’s house. We were sitting and having tea and Julian came rushing in, asking me to play. So, I started playing with him—you know, pretending and having fun and doing all the things kids do. I ended up staying for dinner and then, after Julian went to bed, John took me aside and asked me ‘can you teach me how to play with Julian?’ I tried to answer but I couldn’t. I really wanted to teach John but I couldn’t because it’s something that you can’t teach—it’s just something you figure out. When I was younger, and even now, the family used to get together for the holidays or a drink or tea sometimes at someone’s house. I’d see me aunties, uncles, cousins, all of them. The family was so big that, usually, someone had a baby that needed taking care of. So an auntie would tell me that she was going to do her rounds at the party and ask if I could please take care of her lovely baby. Of course, I accepted. Or, sometimes, my younger cousins would ask to sit in my lap or they wanted someone to play with. I was used to having a baby on my knee—I love it, actually. I love kids! They’re all so lovely and easy to entertain…sometimes, I’d tickle my cousins or just roll around with ‘em, other times I’d read ‘em books or tell them stories, sing them songs or even just talk with ‘em. So that’s what I did with Julian. When I told John that I couldn’t because of all that, he just looked disappointed. John would try to play with Julian but, often, he’d just get angry or frustrated ‘cause he has a short temper. And then Julian’d cry. Afterward, John would try to make right with Julian but it never got easier, I think. John’s not…” Paul paused, unsure of how to say this diplomatically. “John’s a brilliant mate but…well…John’s confused when it comes to kids. Julian’s a lovely little boy—he definitely has John’s imagination. John and Cyn have given him toys and teddy bears but his favorite thing is make-believe. Whenever I’d see Julian, I’d try to give him attention because I loved playing with him but I also felt like he could use some attention.”

Putting her left hand on top of his right, she commented “that’s really sweet, Paul.”

“I feel badly for Cyn because she’s in that big house all alone. She has Julian but…it’s just the two of ‘em. She’ll get on, though, because she knows how—she’s an adult. But, Julian doesn’t know how because he’s a child. I feel badly for Cyn but I feel worse for Julian. He’s easy to love…most kids are, really. I don’t think John’s seen Julian since May. Or, if he has, it’s been a while. I haven’t either, which is why I called Cyn this morning. I wanted to go over to see her and Julian to see how they’re getting on and to play with Julian, too…did you want to come, love? I think you’ll like Julian and Cyn’s lovely, too.”

“Sure,” Linda smiled. “I’d like to meet them both.”


	12. Chapter 12

Paul and Linda awaited the metal gate to Kenwood open, slowly revealing the long driveway. The few gatebirds outside screamed at the sight of Paul’s Mini. Soon, though, they turned into boos and hisses when they saw who was in the car with him. ‘Word gets around quickly,’ thought Linda.

After getting out of the car, they walked up to the house. Before Paul rung the bell, he gave Linda a small kiss as he squeezed her hand. It was his way of, silently, telling her “I love you”.

Linda, patiently, and Paul, nervously, waited for the door to open. When it did, standing before them was Cyn, wearing a simple flowery chartreuse dress. “Hello, Paul,” she forcefully smiled.

“Hello, Cyn,” he greeted, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the back. “I’d like you to meet, Linda. She’s me girlfriend,” Paul explained with a bashful smile. He had never used that word to describe her before—he thought of her as a very good friend who he, frequently, happened to have sex with. “We’ve been going together for a while now,” he half-joked as he smiled at Linda. Knowingly, Linda smiled back while she gently laughed.

Extending her hand, she smiled and warmly said “hello, Cyn. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Linda,” she said, shaking the hand Linda offered her.

“Hello,” Linda’s face lit up as she bent down. “What’s your name?”

“UNCLE PAUL!!!” Julian pushed past his mother to hug Paul’s semi-flared black pant covered legs.

“Julian!” Paul jubilantly exclaimed as he lifted him into the air.

“I missed you, Uncle Paul!” Julian said with a hug.

Paul returned Julian’s hug, telling him “I missed you too, Julian. Go on—give us a kiss, then.” Julian placed a small kiss on Paul’s cheek, which Paul returned to Julian. “You’ve grown so tall since I’ve seen you last! Do you have any wobbly teeth yet?”

“I wanna fly!”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet first, before you take off in the sky. I brought a friend with me today. Her name is Linda and I think you’ll like her. She’s from America.”

“Hi Linda from America. You have pretty hair.”

Linda blushed. “Thank you, Julian. It’s nice to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand, which Julian shook back.

“Come on, Julian. Let’s let Paul and Linda come inside,” Cyn meekly encouraged. “Otherwise you’ll catch cold.”

Once inside, Paul lifted him up and down, allowing Julian to kick his legs with joy. He then let Julian hang from his left arm upside down as Paul spun around. Through laughter, Julian demanded, “put me down! Put me down!”

“On your head?” Paul joked.

“No!” Julian protested. “On my feet!”

“Alright, feet it is then.”

Moving toward the kitchen, Cyn asked “would either of you like any tea? Or anything to eat?”

Paul, who was kneeling on the floor while playfully holding and pushing both of Julian’s arms, said, “I’ll have a cup of tea, thanks.” In the brief moment that he paid attention to Cyn, Julian pushed him back, landing on top of his chest.

“I’d like one, too, please,” said Linda, stifling laughter. “Do you need any help, Cyn?”

“No, I’m alright, Linda. But thank you for asking. Have a seat anywhere you like. I’ll be back with the tea in a few minutes.”

Linda sat on the large burnt orange cushioned couch while she watched the ongoing wrestling match between Julian and Paul. Julian, currently, was winning, sitting atop Paul’s chest.

As he smiled back at Julian, he heard the click of Linda’s camera. Paul tried to sit up. Pretending he couldn’t, he said, “oof, you got me, Julian. You win.”

“Now you’re my prisoner!”

“Carting me off to prison, then?”

“Yes. You’ve been bad and bad people go to prison. I’m going to lock you up forever and ever!” Julian placed pretend handcuffs on Paul, then told him “I need to call more policemen.” Julian suddenly began running around the room, emitting the noisy whine of a police siren. After he was done, he returned to his original post atop his prisoner’s chest.

“Are you the police officer who’s come to cart me off to prison?” Paul asked.

“Yes!”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Police Captain Julian. I have to put handcuffs on you.”

“More handcuffs? I’ve got handcuffs on already, Police Captain Julian, and they’re quite tight! You’ve got me so, surely, you can let me sit up. I won’t run off—Scout’s honor!” he promised with a sly wink.

“No!” Julian protested, slapping Paul on the forehead. Paul’s head hit the carpet with force.

“Oof! That hurt!” Paul objected, breaking character. Linda grimaced at Julian’s rough treatment.

A look of shame overtook the one of silliness on Julian’s face. Accustomed to his father’s anger, Julian moved away from Paul.

Paul rubbed the back of his head with his left hand. “Come ‘ead,” he encouraged as he gently clasped Julian’s hand. Paul patiently reasoned, “we can play, Julian, but you have to promise me no more hitting, alright? How would…” Paul stopped himself cold. Asking Julian how he would feel if he was hit was not a good idea, as he knew that when John lost his temper, which was not hard to do, he had struck Julian. “I don’t like being hit and that did really hurt. No more hitting, please.”

Scratching his head, Julian timidly agreed. “Can you still be my prisoner?”

“As long as you play fair, Julian, I’ll play anything you like.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Linda smiled to herself, impressed with the way Paul handled that situation like it was second nature. ‘Paul did say that he loved kids,’ she mused.

Seamlessly, Paul slipped back into character. “Oh, the police captain, eh? This case must be big then. So, Police Captain Julian, tell me—why do I have to go to prison? I haven’t been bad. I just helped a little old lady cross the street this morning,” he melodramatically pleaded.

“You robbed her and that’s not nice! I have to take you to jail.”

“Robbing someone isn’t nice?” Paul asked, playing dumb.

“Yes! It’s mean and wrong. She was even crying!”

Again, Paul pretended to struggle to get up. “I don’t want to go to prison! Do you really have to take me? I promise that I’ll behave from now on. Take these handcuffs off me…please? What if I just gave back the money I owed? Could you take the handcuffs off of me then?”

Julian shook his head ‘no’, his bangs flitting from side to side. “You have to go to prison!” he declared.

“’Iron Fist’ McGee doesn’t give up without a fight!” Mischievously, Paul smiled, beginning to tickle Julian’s stomach. When Julian doubled over with laughter on the floor, Paul ran away, yelling, “you can’t catch me!”

“Yes I can!” Julian giggled, running after Paul. Linda heard laughter, thunderous footsteps and yelling, both in front of her and from further away; Paul and Julian must have been running all over a portion of the house. When they zipped past her, she quickly clicked her camera. A few minutes later, Paul returned to the living room holding Julian’s hand while hanging his head.

“I’m locking you in jail!”

“Oh, please, Police Captain, sir, please don’t lock me away!”

Julian pushed Paul toward the edge of the sectional sofa, where he was exiled opposite Linda. Pretending to take a key out of his pocket, Julian made the sounds of slamming the door and locking the jail cell.

Paul held onto the imaginary prison bars with both of his hands. “Can I call someone to help them get me out of prison? Every prisoner is entitled to a call, Mr. Police Captain, sir.” His hands in prayer Paul begged “please?”

Cyn walked into the living room carrying a heavy tray that held four mugs of tea, sugar, milk and a plate of Digestives, both chocolate and plain, and Custard Creams. Linda stood up to help her, carefully taking two mugs of tea at a time and placing them on coasters on the large mahogany coffee table. Paul took the plate of cookies.

“You’re in prison!”

“Your mummy was being very nice and bringing us tea and biscuits. And the tray looked heavy, too.”

“Thank you, Linda. Thank you, Paul. That’s so kind of you both to help.” When John left months ago, so did the rest of the help—the maids, the cook and John’s driver. Since then, Cyn had become accustomed to doing things herself; having someone help her, especially without asking, was a small act that went a long way.

While the adults were helping, Julian snuck a chocolate Digestive from the plate and quickly shoved it into his mouth.

“Julian…” Cyn sighed. “Oh dear, you’ve got chocolate and crumbs all over your mouth. Excuse me, Paul and Linda—I have to take Julian to the kitchen to get him cleaned up. Help yourselves to the tea. I’ll be back in a moment.” As she walked with Julian, Linda heard her scold him by saying “you know it’s not polite to take food before the guests.”

Paul picked up the plate of biscuits and offered one to Linda, who chose a biscuit that she did not recognize. “I’ve never had this before. What is it?”

“Chocolate Digestive. They’re John’s favorite.” Paul, who chose a Custard Cream, took a bite.

“Mmm, it’s good.”

Hearing a ‘meow’, he looked down. A warm smile instantly appeared on his face as he reached down to pick up the light grey cat. “Hello, Elvis.”

“Elvis?” Linda laughed.

“Yeah,” smiled Paul as he let Elvis sniff his fingers. “John loves Elvis. It was one of the things that made us so close.”

“Do you play with Julian often?”

“I used to when he was younger. Now it’s only sporadic but I still love it. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Linda said through munches of a dunked chocolate Digestive.

Paul giggled at Linda’s faux-pas. After Linda realized why, he reassured her in a thickened Liverpool accent “don’t worry, love—we ain’t posh here.”

“You’ve never dunked your biscuits, Paul?”

“Nah. And if we did, Mum would’ve had me and Mike’s heads. She wasn’t posh by any means but she wanted us to grow up with good manners.”

Leaning toward him, she taunted “what would she do if she saw you with a girl like me?”

“Faint,” Paul winked.

A moment later, Julian and Cyn returned. “Thanks for waiting Paul, Linda. Do you need anything else?”

“Prisoners aren’t allowed to eat biscuits!”

“I’ve been fine, thanks,” assured Linda as she scratched Elvis’s stomach. “Sit down and have your tea. Yours must be getting cold.”

“Am I still your prisoner?”

“Yes! Prisoners aren’t allowed to have biscuits because biscuits are for good people. Prisoners are bad. And you can’t eat biscuits with handcuffs.”

“I can, y’know! I can even drink me tea. Even prisoners need sweets sometimes. And even Police Captains like their tea, don’t they? Let’s have our tea, Julian and then, I promise, you can throw me back in prison.”

 

Paul, Linda and Cyn sipped their tea, ate biscuits and chatted for about an hour and a half. All the while, Julian vied for Paul’s attention. For a while, Julian sat in Paul’s lap, fidgeting and squirming. When he was unable to wait any longer, he ran off to get his art kit. Perhaps drawing something for Paul would get his attention.

As they talked, Linda and Cyn got to know each other better. Linda mentioned that she had a daughter who was about Julian’s age, she and Cyn began to talk about motherhood and children. Paul took the opportunity to color with Julian on the floor.

“Mummy, look! I made you a drawing.”

“Oh!” Cyn smiled. “Thank you, Julian. Can you tell me what it is?” she asked as she scanned the jumble of lines and colors.

“It’s a fire truck going to rescue the people who are in a house. The firemen are going to save them. And that’s their kitty and doggy who are up the tree. Their kitty is named Doggy and their doggy is named Kitty. They’re a silly family, Mummy. They’re all clowns.” Julian heard the camera click again.

“Why are you taking pictures?” he asked Linda.

“I’m a photographer.”

“What do you take pictures of?”

“Anything that I think is pretty or interesting.”

“Boys can’t be pretty,” Julian smarted as he folded his arms.

“I mean handsome. Boys are ‘handsome’ and girls are ‘pretty’,” Linda explained.

Julian took another Digestive from the tray and focused on Linda’s camera. Meanwhile, Cyn carefully slipped the plate of biscuits away from Julian’s reach.

“I like your camera,” said Julian.

“Thank you,” Linda smiled.

“Does it have a name?” Julian asked with a mouth full of crumbs.

Linda chuckled. “A name?”

“Yeah!”

“No,” Linda continued to chuckle.

“Is it your best friend?” Julian asked, being silly.

Linda looked down at the black case for her Canon, feeling the varied texture beneath her fingers. “Yeah, it is, actually. I take it with me everywhere I go.”

“Why?”

“Because I might see something that is worth taking a picture of.”

Julian shoved the last bite of Digestive in his mouth. “How do you know when to take a picture?”

Linda honestly pondered Julian’s question—it was a good one. She had no an answer. Carefully shaking her head, she told him, simply, “I just take pictures of what I like.”

Julian sat next to Linda on the sofa. “How do you know what you like?”

“Experience. That’s the best teacher. After a while, you begin to realize what you enjoy. It can take some time. What’s your favorite thing to do, Julian?”

Julian gave a large smile to Linda. “Play! I really like playing pretend and coloring and eating cookies.”

“You sound just like my daughter,” Linda smiled with a twinge of sadness.


	13. Chapter 13

“Time to say goodbye to Uncle Paul, Julian.”

“NO!”

“Don’t make a fuss, Julian. It’s almost time for dinner. If you’re a good boy and eat all of your vegetables, you can have some ice cream.”

“I DON’T WANT HIM TO GO!”

Reaching for his hand, Julian immediately struck it down. “Julian!” Cyn exclaimed. “No ice cream tonight.”

“I DON’T CARE!” Julian yelled, sternly turning his back to his mother.

Linda grimaced, feeling slightly guilty as she watched Julian’s temper tantrum.

“Julian, I’ll come back,” Paul assured, hoping to break the tension.

“NO YOU WON’T!”

Cyn gave Julian a scowl, letting him know that he should stop.

“Julian,” he reasoned, “I know you’re upset but promise I’ll come back. Alright then?”

Julian stood there with his arms crossed. After a few seconds, he looked back to see if Paul was still standing there. When he looked back, he saw Paul open his arms. Julian stood there and watched, pretending he didn’t care.

“Goodbye, Cyn,” he said, standing up. “It was lovely to see you again. Thanks for having us.”

Shaking Cyn’s hand, Linda agreed. “Thanks for the cookies and the tea. It was nice to meet Julian, too.” Turning to him, she said “goodbye, Julian. Maybe I’ll see you again soon.”

Julian sat in the middle of the living room, petting Elvis and pretending to not care. As soon as he heard Cyn unlock the door, he bolted for Paul.

Looking down, Paul felt someone squeezing his leg. Placing his left hand on Julian’s head, he said “come ‘ead” and lifted Julian up. Julian then burrowed his head in Paul’s neck. From afar, Cyn and Linda watched as Paul and Julian had an intimate conversation.

“Alright?”

“No,” Julian said quietly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Paul gave Julian a little squeeze. “Me too.”

Squeezing back, Julian sighed, “I won’t have anyone to play with now.”

“I bet you have lots of friends at school! Who do you play with there?”

Elvis cuddled beside Julian. “Scott, Lucy, Ben, Hugo, Huw…Chris and Zane…Tulip…” As he thought of more people, he felt Elvis place his paw on his lower right leg. Julian looked down at him sadly. In return, Elvis let out a sad meow.

“That sounds like loads of friends to me.”

“It’s not the same,” Julian said, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Me neither.”

“Then why do you have to?”

“Because it’s almost dinner time.”

“Why can’t you stay like always?” Julian pouted.

Paul scratched his head. “It’s different this time.”

“Why?!” Julian demanded, stamping his foot.

“Because we have to leave, really. It’s no big secret. That’s just what it is.”

Julian stood with his arms crossed. “It’s not fair! I want you to stay. Can you read me a bedtime story?”

“It’s not bedtime yet.”

“I want you to read me a bedtime story. You make funny voices when you read.”

That comment made Paul smile widely. “I’m glad you like them. I love reading to you.”

“Then why can’t you stay and read me a bedtime story?” he whined.

Paul exhaled deeply through his nose and mouth. “One of these days, Julian. I promise.”

“You say that but you don’t mean it!”

“I do! Really, I do.” Paul paused, scratching Elvis, then added “prisoner’s honor” with a wink.

Julian let out a small laugh, then remembered that Paul was still his prisoner. “You can’t leave! You’re still my prisoner.”

Paul sat on his feet, pleading “please, oh, please, set me free, Police Captain Julian! I’ll be a good boy. I’ll help old ladies cross the street. I won’t steal any more. And I’d miss Linda lots and lots if you kept me in prison.”

“She could come and visit you,” Julian suggested.

“But she’d be in me house all alone. She’s only just come all the way from America a few days ago. That’s thousands and thousands of miles away! Please don’t make her sad. Can you take these handcuffs off of me? Please?”

Julian pondered his prisoner’s plea. “Do you promise to be good?”

“Oh, I promise I will,” Paul said, raising his left hand. Then, placing his hand on his heart he said “hand on heart.”

After a brief moment, Julian relented.

“Thank you, Police Captain Julian. You’ve made me very happy. And you’ve made Linda happy, too.” Silence fell between them.

Elvis wound his way around Julian’s feet. “I don’t want you to go,” he begged. “Please.”

“Want to give me a hug goodbye? Make it a big one.”

Julian practically toppled Paul as he embraced him. Hearing Julian sniffle, he rubbed his back in between giving him a few tickles. About a minute later, he gave Julian a kiss on the cheek and then let go, but Julian latched on again.

“How about one more twirl?” Julian nodded his head ‘yes’ against Paul’s shoulder.

Paul picked up Julian, lifting him up and down. He then flipped Julian a few times, set him back upright.

“What about the twirls?” Julian asked. Paul spun Julian around until he became dizzy.

“Again again!” Julian laughed.

“Another time,” promised Paul as he reoriented himself and caught his breath. “Another hug instead?” Julian instantly accepted.

Hand-in-hand, he walked with Julian to the door. Elvis followed close behind. “He decided to set me free this time on good behavior,” Paul informed Cyn as he gave Julian’s hand to her. Still, Julian stood closer to Paul. “I promised I wouldn’t cause any more trouble.”

Amused, Cyn smiled at Paul, who gave her a kiss on the cheek. As he did, she whispered “thank you” in his ear. In return, Paul gave her a wink. “I’ll see you soon, Cyn.” Bending down to speak to Julian “and I’ll see you soon, too. Goodbye, Police Captain Julian. Be a good boy. I will if you will.”

Julian, once more, reached for Paul but instead caught his leg. Waving goodbye, Paul closed the door and left. Elvis circled his feet and rubbed his head on his lower legs. Still, Julian frowned as he leaned into Cyn.

 

As Linda walked down the steps, hand-in-hand with Paul, she marveled at what had just occurred. Julian, obviously, adored Paul. In return, Paul had treated Julian with kindness and empathy. When Julian mistreated Paul, he helped him understand why what he did was wrong.

Paul opened the car door for Linda, then opened his own. Buckling his seatbelt, he then looked back at the mansion he had just exited, hoping that Julian wasn’t too sad. He felt quite guilty about leaving Julian when he so desperately wanted him to stay, especially because it seemed like everything around him was changing.

“I know how you feel,” she said, placing her right hand atop his left. “I felt the same way two days ago.”

 

Linda returned to the house with a somewhat heavy heart. “Would you mind if I called Heather and checked my messages? I’ll pay you for the call.”

“Don’t be silly, love. Go on and call her. I know how much you miss her.” Looking down at Martha while patting his knees, he playfully asked, “Want to go outside and play? Yes you do! Yes you do! Come on, girl!” Enthusiastically, Martha barked then rushed past Paul, as if to ask him ‘what are you waiting for?’

Linda picked up the phone, carefully dialing each number.

“Big Apple Messaging Service, this is Charice.”

“Hi Charice, it’s Linda Eastman. How are you doing?”

“Just fine, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Linda.”

“Alright, Linda. What’s your number?”

“KL-3939.”

“Just a moment, Linda.”

Linda waited impatiently as she heard a robotic, intermittent beep to let her know that the call had not accidentally ended. She expected two messages, at least—one from Heather and one from Lillian. They talked practically every day. This was the first time in a long while that she had not spoken to her with such frequency.

The beeping ceased. “You have a message from Heather Eastman from Saturday at 10:30 AM. She said that she misses her Mommy and wants her to call. Do you need the number?”

“No, thanks. I know the number. Are there any other messages?”

“Just one from Lillian Roxon. She called today at 3:45 PM, telling you to call her when you had the chance. Do you need that number, ma’am, uh, I mean Linda?”

“No, no thank you. I know that one, too.”

“Ok, is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“That’s it. Thank you again, Charice. Goodbye.”

 

Quickly, Linda dialed her father’s number; she couldn’t call Lillian now (or any time during the trip). Though she was calling to speak to Heather, she was still nervous. Heather would not answer the phone; for one, she was too short. The maid would answer the phone. Her father would hear that the phone call was for Heather. He would then instruct her to give him the phone when she was finished. He would shoo his granddaughter out of his home office, only to give Linda a lecture from 3,000 miles away.

The phone rang and, sure enough, one of the maids, Delilah, answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, Delilah. How are you doing?”

“I’m doin’ just fine, Miss Linda. Just fine. How about yourself?”

“I’m doing well. London is a lot of fun but I miss Heather.”

Delilah lifted the lid on the pasta and stirred it to ensure it didn’t boil over. “I don’t think she’ll mind me sayin’ that she misses you, too. You know, it had been so quiet in the house these past few years. Everything was so orderly and proper. Heather brought some life to the place! She’s been helpin’ in the kitchen sometimes, just like you used to do.”

Linda smiled. “She helps me in the kitchen at home sometimes, too. Heather loves cracking eggs.”

“She’s a good helper. And it’s nice to have some company. I’ll go get Little Miss Heather for you. Have a good rest of your trip, Miss Linda.”

“Thanks, Delilah.” A minute later, Linda heard “Mommy!”

“Heather-bear!” she grinned, practically laughing. “How are you, sweetie?”

“Miss D gave me a gold star in class today! I did a really good job on my reading test. She said that I’m one of the best readers in the class!”

“Wow! I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mommy. Are you still in England?”

Slipping on one of her socks, she cradled the phone with her shoulder and neck. “Yes, I am.”

“You’ve been there forever. When are you coming home?”

“I’ve only been here for four days, Heather. That’s less than a week.”

Heather shook her head ‘no’ as she cradled Kitty in her right arm. “It’s forever, Mommy. I miss you. Kitty misses you, too.”

Linda gave a pained smile, telling Heather that she missed her, too. “Give Kitty a hug and a kiss for me.” A small void of sadness filled Linda’s chest, forcing her to change topics. “Did you look at the pictures that I developed for you? Those are ones that you took all by yourself, Heather.”

After another 10 minutes of conversation, Linda looked at the clock. Though she could talk to Heather for hours, she had to be mindful of her minutes. “I hate to end this conversation, sweetie pie, but I have to get off the phone. Calling America from England is very expensive.”

“No, Mommy! I don’t want you to go,” Heather sadly begged.

“It’s late over here and I’m very tired. I have to go to sleep, Heather,” Linda lied.

“Mommy, you don’t go to bed now! We haven’t even had dinner yet!”

“It’s late here—it’s 10:30 at night, Heather.” As soon as Linda finished her sentence, she regretted it—that statement of fact lead to a whole other line of questions and explanations about the sun, the earth and time zones.

“Ok, Heather, now I really have to say goodbye. And you probably have to go, too—you’re having dinner soon.”

Heather’s whines echoed down the seemingly endless hall down which she was looking. The stately manor where her grandma and grandpa lived seemed very lonely when she wasn’t with anyone. If she wanted to find grandma or grandpa, she had to run down the hallway yelling their name until she heard them. The apartment in the city was so small, but she could always find Mommy to show her a drawing she made or give her a hug. “Mommy, I want to talk to you and draw pictures with you and go to the park with you and have you tuck me into bed and read me stories! And I have to make sure Kitty always stays with me or else he’ll get lost and he’ll be really scared. The house is gigantic!”

Even though she was only gone for a few days, she felt like she was missing out on seeing Heather grow up. She did not want to leave England just yet, as she was enjoying her time with Paul. What began as a frivolous sex-filled relationship has grew into a fast and close friendship. “I’ll call again tomorrow, Heather. I promise.”

“Nuh-uh!” Heather protested.

“I will,” Linda sincerely promised.

Though she knew her mother was telling her the truth, Heather scowled argumentatively.

Linda could tell Heather was doubtful. “I promise, Heather. I’ll call you tomorrow after you come home from school. What time do you come home from school?”

“I don’t know.”

For a moment, Linda forgot that her daughter could not tell time. She quickly figured that, because Heather got out of school at 2:30, she would be home around 4 PM New York Time. “I’ll call you around 4 PM.”

“Promise?” Heather insisted.

“I promise. When you get off the phone, tell Delilah that I’ll call you about then.” The next thing Linda heard was Heather’s voice echoing throughout the marble-floored, grandiose dining room. Heather’s voice fading in and out made her realize that her daughter was jumping up and down with glee, making Linda quietly laugh. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep tight, Heather-bear. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mommy.”

After the phone receiver slid back into the holder, Linda felt both the sadness of not being able to give Heather a hug and kiss and the relief that she did not get yelled at by her father. She then rushed downstairs to the backyard to play with Martha.

“Hi Paul.”

Martha stopped rolling with Paul in the grass and ran to Linda, licking her hand. Linda bent down to pet her and give her a hug. Martha then licked her cheek profusely and nuzzled her neck until Linda laughed. “Thank you, Martha,” she said with a smile.

Brushing himself off, Paul stood up and walked over to Linda. “She gave your cheek a good washing, eh, love?” Linda agreed while lightly laughing. “Done with your phone call so soon? How’s Heather?”

“She’s good,” she sighed. Shrugging, she continued “she misses me but there’s nothing I can do but keep calling her until I get home. I miss her, too.”

Paul looked at her empathetically. “What do you miss most?”

“Hugging her and tucking her into bed.” Linda could feel Paul taking her in his gentle arms as Martha pawed her jeans.

“Call her again tomorrow and talk for as long as you like, love. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Thanks, Paul. But I can’t talk to her for long—the longer I talk, the more Heather misses me and the more upset she’ll get when I have to get off the phone.”

“Do you feel better after you talk to her, though?”

“Yeah,” Linda quietly replied.

“That’s what’s important then,” Paul told Linda with a kiss. “Come ‘ead—let’s go inside. I’m freezing. I’m going to put the kettle on. Did you want a cup of tea too, love?”

While Paul put the kettle on, Linda told Paul she was going to go upstairs and change into her pajamas. She took a brief detour through the living room, then went upstairs to wander through the bathroom and bedrooms, which were a mess. Though Linda was sure Paul didn’t ask her to come to London to be his live-in housekeeper, as he already had an old married couple that did, she decided to take on the task. Paul had a very nice house that, sadly, didn’t feel like a home. Linda didn’t have time to clean her apartment often, but she always felt better after she did. She suspected that Paul would feel the same. Martha might even appreciate it. Thisbe, though, was probably indifferent.

Linda meandered back down to the kitchen, hearing the kettle whistle and the clanking of mugs. “You have a nice house, Paul. I could help you clean it up a bit. You know—make it more of a home.”

Paul looked at Linda with surprise. “You can do that?!”

“Sure,” Linda simply stated. “I could keep your fridge filled with food, do the laundry, cook, take care of Martha and Thisbe, take care of you…we could get the sofas and the carpets cleaned, the television fixed…”

Paul marveled at Linda’s simple yet radical suggestions. He wouldn’t come home after long sessions at the studio to an empty, disheveled house. Linda being there made it more of a home instead of just a place to lay his head…or a girl. What she was suggesting would make it feel like a proper home, which he hadn’t had in years. The Ashers’ home was the closest thing he had, but it wasn’t even his. He could, finally, return to his house to not only a woman who he wholeheartedly loved but also a true home. People like Brian or the secretaries at the studio took care of whatever he needed, but that wasn’t the same. Linda was special. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also passionate, kind, understanding and easygoing.

Jane was always focused on her career and Francie was focused on…whatever it is she was focused on. Linda was someone he cared about dearly; he was pretty sure she felt the same. He never had any relationships like this. ‘Relationship?’ Paul thought, stopping him in his tracks. Paul realized he was in a relationship with Linda; he liked that.

After a moment of silence, he asked, “can you handle the gatebirds? They can be…well, you’ve seen,” Paul commented.

Linda had been a single mother for years. However thoughtful it was that Paul asked she didn’t need another man to protect her. “The worst I’ve seen them do is say mean things,” she replied, taking the tea that Paul handed her.

‘And steal things, too,’ Paul thought. Fascinated, he asked, “you could really do all that?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” she said genuinely. “It might even make you feel a little happier.”

“I’m alright, love. Honest.”

With her right hand rubbing his back, she told him “I know the fighting has been getting to you. It’s always difficult when you’re arguing, especially when it’s with people you care about. It’ll get better.” Paul gave her a small smile. Linda continued, “at least, when you come home, you’ll be somewhere warm and inviting. I find that when my apartment a little cleaner, I feel better. Home should be where you feel comfortable, where you can be yourself.”

Paul marveled at what Linda just said. No one had ever wanted to make a true home for him! The last time he had that was when his Mum was alive. In his mind, each place in his house always had a specific purpose—a space for writing music, for having parties, for doing drugs, for escaping the gatebirds, for bedding a girl…it was never, simply, a place to just be. “That sounds ace! Positively brilliant, Lin!” Leaning back, he, in disbelief, asked, “you could really do all that then?”

“Yes,” Linda laughed. Swallowing a sip of her tea, she said, “you sound surprised.”

“It’s…No one’s ever wanted to do that for me, Lin. It won’t just be a place with me stuff inside, it’ll be somewhere we can live together. It’ll be nice to have the company of someone who isn’t the housekeeper…and someone who I love, at that. I’m dead chuffed.”

Linda warm smile grew. She felt proud that her simple suggestion could put him in such high spirits.

Leaning in, Paul gave Linda a long, intimate kiss. “As time goes on, I’m falling more and more in love with you.” In both thrill and embarrassment, Linda turned away from him with a smile. “I know it sounds like a fairytale but it’s the truth. The past few days have been like spending it with me best mate. I wish that I could buy you something that tells you how…how lucky I feel,” Paul chickened out.

Linda told him that he didn’t need to buy her anything; friendship was its own reward. “Just keep on keeping on,” she said. “Keep being yourself.”

There weren’t enough kisses, hugs or condoms in the world to thank Linda. Though, that night, he would certainly try.


	14. Chapter 14

As Linda’s visit endured, Paul grew more relaxed than he had in years (except for the pot). The time they spent together went quickly. He and Linda took a few day trips to nowhere in particular. Sometimes, Paul would drive one-armed and they would hold hands. Martha always had the back seat to herself, save for Paul’s acoustic guitar. During those trips, Linda and Paul, as always, had discussions that changed topics as much as the roads on which they drove curved. Linda would encourage Paul to drive somewhere and get a little lost, which, initially, scared him. Eventually, he warmed to the idea. It even inspired him to write a new song, called “Two Of Us”. On those trips, they discovered beautiful parks, delicious tearooms and quiet beaches. Linda snapped memory after memory with her camera.

When Paul apologized that he was tired before one of their day trips, Linda simply told him that it was “allowed”. Her comment was a welcome shock. Instead of being told to perk up or put on a face, Linda wanted him to be himself.

Gratefully, Paul gave Linda a long hug. As she returned his long, tender embrace, she could tell Paul was hesitating to pull away. When he did, he looked into her gorgeous blue eyes and, with a tremble in his voice, told her “I love you, Lin.”

His words set Linda’s heart aflutter—it was the first time Paul had said that phrase, much less any man she honestly cared for. Without hesitation, she replied, “I love you, too, Paul.”

When Paul heard Linda’s words, tears almost formed in his eyes. At a loss for words, Paul gave Linda a long, intimate kiss. Linda knew that it was Paul’s way of saying ‘thank you’. 

Unsure of what to do, they stood holding each other around the waist, staring into each other’s eyes.

“You blinked,” Linda said, making both of them laugh.

“Tell me your secret for winning, then?”

“Never,” Linda innocently replied.

“I don’t give up that easy.”

Linda smiled coyly, shaking her head. “My lips are sealed.”

“Not for long,” he told Linda before kissing her again.

 

One early October Sunday, he and Linda rode around on the Tube. Surprisingly, there wasn’t another person to be found. They ended up taking loads of pictures of each other. Linda never ran out of film. And they both never ran out of things to discuss.

 

To be able to see Linda’s facial expressions and body language while chatting made Paul positively content. The topics him and Linda could discuss ranged from silly to serious. The facility with which their conversation’s tone could switch was an aspect of their relationship that Paul cherished. It had never been this easy with any of the other girls. Plus, Linda was a woman; the people who he had relationships with in the past were, for the most part, girls.

Their relationship was certainly unique. The total honesty he shared with Linda was only shared with one other person—John. ‘Songwriting partner’ or ‘bandmate’ were proper titles, but ‘best mate’ suited John most. There was a time when they were virtually inseparable—sagging off of school together, writing songs together, drinking together, pulling birds together, tripping together… He had known John for half his life! Not including him was never an option. John’s friendship was the kind that Paul believed only came around once in a person’s life, if that.

Of late, though, their relationship’s hairline cracks had begun to show their severity. The possibility of being alone frightened Paul terribly. Music came along when he lost his mum. Then, John quickly followed suit. They shared not only the bond of music but also the pain of losing their mothers too early. Now that they were drifting apart, at the back of his mind, Paul kept the fear of being alone in the back of his mind.

 

As promised, Linda made his bachelor pad into a home. She tidied it up, doing the laundry, keeping his pantry fully stocked and keeping he, Martha and Thisbe very happy. Linda seemed happy, as well. Though the word ‘marriage’ was never mentioned, Paul certainly felt as though they were. There was no one who he would rather spend time with…except for John, but only when he was alone, which was rare; Yoko was almost always in tow.

These days, Paul was more inspired by Linda than by his fellow Beatles or the world around him. He even finished “I Will”, a song with which he had been struggling since he started writing it in India. Paul would never forget the first time he played it for Linda. He finished it while tinkering in the music room on the third floor a few days after Linda arrived. Dinner was on the table but he couldn’t wait to play it for her. She looked positively flattered as he did so. Afterward, they shared each other’s embrace in contented silence. She nestled her head on Paul’s right shoulder. He gave her Eskimo kisses and gentle kisses on her forehead. Linda wanted to savor the feeling for as long as possible. When they finally ate, neither of them cared the dinner was cold (and partially eaten by Martha).

After their tea, Linda returned Heather’s call (and ignored Lillian’s catty message). The message simply said “please please please please please come home, Mommy. I miss you a lot.”

When Linda called, Delilah, one of the maids, picked up. Impatiently, Heather waited for her to give her the phone.

“Mommy, did you get my message?”

“I did! That’s why I’m calling you.”

Getting quiet, Heather pivoted on her hips, gently rocking her body back and forth. She whispered to her mother “I miss you, Mommy.”

“I miss you, too, Heather-bear,” Linda told her with regret. “How was school today? Are you making any new friends?”

“Miss D gave us jelly beans today. She was nice and took out all the yucky black ones.”

Linda took Heather’s avoidance of the question to mean ‘no’, which disappointed her. Heather was a friendly girl but was also quite shy; it concerned Linda, at times, that she didn’t have more friends. But, she reassured herself that it was still the beginning of the year so she had plenty of time to make them. “Jelly beans?” she asked.

“She taught us about essimating.”

Linda laughed a bit at Heather’s error. “You mean estimating.”

“Yeah.”

“Now you say it—es-ti-mat-ing.”

“Es-ti-mat-ing.”

“That’s it! Why’d she have a jar of jelly beans?”

“She made us ess-i…est-ti-mate how many were in there. There were a lot—more than 100! I didn’t get close but she gave everyone some jellybeans.”

“That was nice of her.”

“Yeah, they were yummy…” she drifted off. “Mommy, when are you coming home?”

Linda frowned. It annoyed her that Heather kept asking, though she knew that her daughter was only doing so because she missed her and wanted an answer. “Soon, Heather-bear. After I finish taking pictures.”

“You always say soon!” Heather crossly stated. In the background, she heard a familiar walking pattern getting closer to her daughter. 

Heavy-hearted, Linda sighed. “Just a little bit longer, Heather. I still have to take some pictures.”

“You should take pictures faster,” Heather suggested.

“I’ll come home as soon as I’m done.”

The footsteps were replaced by the billowing voice of her father. “Is that your Mom?” he asked Heather.

“Yeah, Grandpa.”

Standing over her, he instructed “give me the phone after you’re done, kiddo. I’ll wait.”

Knowing what was going to happen, Heather accusingly told her grandfather, “you’re gonna yell at Mommy!”

“I’m not going to yell, Heather. I have to talk to her.”

Linda gulped.

“Yes you are! Grandpa, don’t yell at her. Mommy’s nice. I love her and Kitty loves her, too. Please be nice.”

Lee lowered his eyes. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, kiddo.” He then instructed “get back on the phone with your mother. This call is costing her a fortune. Give me the phone when you’re done and then we’ll play hide and seek. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Mommy, you said that you sent postcards but they’re not here.”

“Postcards take a long time to be sent, especially because, this time, they have to go alllll the way across the ocean. I sent one a few days ago. I hope you’ll get it soon.”

After another five minutes, Linda asked Heather if she could go get grandpa. Before she did, Heather made her mother promise that they wouldn’t fight. Handing the phone to her grandfather, he instructed her to go outside and play. Heather tip-toed to the kitchen so she could listen to her grandfather. If he started yelling at Mommy, she could rush in to save her.

“Linda, what are you doing in London?”

That was her father—always getting down to business. “I’m making a living by taking pictures that I can sell.” 

Lee let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Haven’t you gotten enough photos? You’ve been there for a week and a half. You need to come home so you can do your other job—being a mother.”

Both furious and upset, Linda almost cried on the spot. Her father certainly had a way of twisting his choice, pointed words. “I do my job plenty, Dad. I’m the only person who can support myself and Heather. I have to make sure that I get enough shots that I can sell so Heather and I have a roof over our heads, food to eat, electricity, heat, clean clothes…I still have to see Jimi Hendrix.”

“One of those long-hairs?” he asked as he heard the door to the kitchen slowly creak. Quickly, he turned around, only to see part of Heather’s hair disappear.

“Yes, one of those long-hairs,” Linda snippily replied. Drawing a long sigh, she asked “is the only reason you wanted to talk to me so you could yell at me from 3,000 miles away? No ‘how’s your trip’ or ‘I’m enjoying my time with Heather’?”

“Linda, if Heather’s staying here, I have a right to know what you’re doing over there.”

“Grandpa, don’t be mean to Mommy!”

“I thought I told you to wait outside, Heather,” Lee admonished.

“You promised to be nice to Mommy!” Heather countered. As she heard that, Linda felt immense pride at the fact that her daughter was defending her.

Exhaling through his nose, Lee knew his granddaughter was right. “I broke my promise…but so did you. That makes us even.”

“Are you gonna apologize to Mommy?” she quietly asked.

Lee put the receiver back up to his ear. “I’m sorry, Linda. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Is Mommy ok?” Lee handed the receiver to Heather. “Mommy, are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Heather. I appreciate what you did. You’re very loyal.”

“What’s that mean?” she asked, shifting Kitty in her arms.

“It means you’re faithful. Once you believe in something, you stick with it. But, Grandpa told you to go outside. Instead, you listened in on our conversation. That’s called eavesdropping and that’s rude.”

The emptiness of embarrassment rested near Heather’s heart. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“For…”

“For eavesdropping.”

“Thank you. You owe Grandpa an apology, too.”

Looking up at her Grandfather, she apologized with sincerity. Satisfied, Linda told Heather to hand the phone back to Grandpa and go outside and play for real this time. Lee put the phone down, walked her outside and then returned to Linda.

“Linda, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” she replied. While she waited, Thisbe had joined her on Paul’s bed.

“Linda, when are you coming home?” Audibly, Linda let out a heavy sigh. “It’s a valid question.”

“Dad, why does everything have to be an argument? I don’t want to argue. I really appreciate that you and Monique are taking care of Heather while I’m gone. She’s with people who she loves. I’ll come home soon, but I can’t tell you when. It’s definitely going to be before the end of October. I miss Heather. I miss her a lot, Dad.” Linda took a deep breath, feeling a lump in her throat. “Since the moment I left, Heather asked me when I was coming back. And, every time, I call my answering service, I’m going to have a message from her, begging me to come home. Calling to talk to Heather is wonderful, but it’s also terrible. I am incredibly happy to talk to her and hear all about what she’s been up to, but it’s terrible to have to say goodbye. It only makes me miss her more. I know she needs me, Dad. Please don’t make it any more difficult than it already is.”

“We’re on the same page.”

“Good.”

“I’m going to get Heather. She’s waiting for me to play hide and seek.”

Scratching behind Thisbe’s ears, she said “that sounds like fun. Bye, Dad.”

“Goodbye, Linda.”


	15. Chapter 15

Linda called Heather often, focusing on talking about her day. Eventually, she was forward with Heather about who she was staying with—“a nice man named Paul who I like very much.” Linda was always mindful not to have the conversation last too long—longer conversations meant a more expensive phone bill for Paul and, after she hung up, a more disappointed Heather.

While Linda was thoroughly enjoying her extended stay, it grew increasingly difficult to say goodbye to her daughter. She could hear how much Heather missed her. And every time she called her, Heather asked when she was coming home. Linda was also beginning to feel a bit guilty at leaving Heather for so long.

The first Friday in October, Paul told Linda that The White Album sessions were coming to an end. Though initially having fallen for Paul’s Beatle magic, Linda eventually saw him as someone who she cared about deeply. She was wary to call it true love.

Paul, certainly, was convinced it was. When walking by a Buddhist temple, they passed a sign that said “Buddhist weddings”. Paul asked her if she fancied it but she, casually, told him no.

 

In the gazebo, Linda and Paul cuddled while staring at the embers of daylight extinguish into the night sky. Martha lay at their feet to keep them warm. Every once in a while, the crickets chirped. The breeze, with a hint of a chill, calmly brushed across the bridge of Linda’s nose. Paul’s hand squeezed Linda’s, simply delighted that she lay next to him. Linda knew it was time.

“Paul, I’m having a wonderful time here but,”

Though he wore a poker face, his heart sank, knowing the words that were coming next.

“I really miss Heather.”

“It must be so hard for you to be away from her, Lin. I don’t want you to leave, though. I’ve loved having you here—you made me house a home. I had someone to come home to…someone who I love. I’ve never felt this way when I’ve lived here. Do you really have to?”

“Yeah,” Linda sighed. “Heather needs me. Being a mom never stops.”

Paul rolled to his left, placing his right arm around her. “I’m going to miss you, Lin. So are Martha and Thisbe.” With a kiss and a sigh, he added, “I really don’t want you to leave. I’m going to miss you most. I’m going to miss singing for you, getting lost with you, eating with you, cuddling with you…”

Linda ran her slender fingers through Paul’s cool hair. “I feel the same way, Paul,” she sullenly replied with a kiss.

 

In the bedroom, Linda sat quietly, waiting for Paul to finish up in the bathroom. As she lay there, she thought about everything she would come home to—a slightly older Heather, a wealth of photos and memories, a slightly broken heart, a father who would never let her forget this trip, an annoyed Lillian whose calls she hadn’t returned in weeks….

“What’re you thinkin’ about, Lin?”

Paul’s smooth voice jerked her back to the present. “Nothing,” she replied.

Paul moved toward Linda, eager to brush aside whatever was on her mind. Passionately, he affixed his lips to hers as he caressed her neck. As he ended the kiss, he gently rubbed his left index finger against her right jaw. “What’re you thinking about now?” he asked with a romantically drunken giggle.

“Missing that.”

Paul’s expression sunk. “When can I see you again?”

“I haven’t even left,” she half-laughed.

“I know but…nobody wants their best mate to leave.”

Linda gave a half smile, squinting her eyes with flattery. “Thank you, Paul.”

“It’s the truth, Lin. I feel like I can tell you anything. We can be silly together. We can have serious discussions. Any silence between us is comfortable. That’s what a best mate is, really.”

“Yeah,” she nodded with a smile. “I feel the same. I’m going to miss having someone to come home to.”

Linda lay down under the covers. “So am I.”

Paul did the same. “You have Heather.”

“Yeah, but I can’t cuddle in bed with her. And you have Rose and her husband…Andrew.”

“Yeah, but I can’t cuddle in bed with them.”

Linda laughed. A comfortable silence quickly emerged.

“Promise me you’ll come back,” Paul begged, clasping Linda’s right hand in his left.

“I promise,” she nodded.

“When?”

Linda shook her head, adding “I don’t know.”

“But when?”

“Paul…” she chided as she moved away from him.

“Sorry, love,” Paul sighed, wiping his brow. “Before you go, I’ll record an acetate of ‘I Will’ for you.”

“I’d like that. Thanks.”

Letting out a heavy sigh as his head, filled with worry, lay beside Linda’s shoulder on his silk pajamas she was wearing. “Can we just lay here together, Lin? Would that be alright?”

Her hand on his head, she assured him it was.

Closing his tired eyes, he simmered to sleep with his anguish about the exact, impending moment Linda would leave him.

 

“Morning, Lin,” Paul yawned.

“Good morning,” she smiled. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright.” Paul yawned again then scratched his stubble; he hadn’t shaved in two days. “Oof, I need to shave today. Echhh, I can’t stand it.”

Linda rolled toward him, trying to ignore his morning breath. “Why don’t you like to shave?”

“It’s just…it’s inconvenient! Mum always used to tell me to not get any hair down the sink. Else the plumber’d have to come ‘cause the sink was stopped. You have to make your face damp. You have to get the shaving cream on just right. I’ve been doing it for years but I always use too much. You have to shave just right or else you cut yourself. I did that plenty when I was younger. It seems like it all takes ages. It’s naff that you have to do it every day.”

“So don’t.”

“It’s alright, love?”

“Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?”

Paul shrugged. “Don’t know, really,” he lied. Linda had never been with him when he had facial hair. What if she didn’t like him with it?

“Don’t shave,” she encouraged stroking his stubble. “That’s how you could come to New York. That could be your disguise.”

“It’d never work, love,” Paul disagreed. “We tried it a few years ago with hats and coats and mustaches and always got caught.”

“You were all together, though. This time, you’d be on your own.”

Paul frowned. “Mmm, I don’t think so, love.”

Linda sat up. “No, no, hear me out, Paul—we’d dress you up in some clothes from a thrift shop. You’d wear a big jacket, like an army jacket. You could grow your hair longer. With a beard, you’d look like a Vietnam vet. Everyone in New York is concerned with themselves. You wouldn’t get stopped. You’d fit in.”

“Mmm…maybe, though. But if I was recognized, it’d be a scene. I couldn’t put you through that. The people in your building’d notice that there’s a British bloke there.”

“Maybe. Most of the people who live in my building are older. Most of them probably think of you as”, putting on an old lady voice “a long-haired ruffian.” That voice forced Paul to smile. “See?” Linda winked. “When are you finished recording the album?”

Paul stretched, stalling his response. “Soon, I think. I don’t now when.”

“You could spend some time with me,” Linda mentioned as she leaned toward Paul. “You could see New York, I’d have someone to hold my hand on the plane. And you could meet Heather.”

Once she saw Paul’s fang when he smiled, she knew she had changed his mind.

 

Linda called Heather the next morning to tell her when she would be coming home. Paul lay to her right on his back, listening to Linda’s half of the conversation while under the covers. He was nervous as he waited for her to pass the phone to him. He had heard so much about Heather. What was she really like? A lot relied on this conversation. If she didn’t like him, it would be virtually impossible for him to have a relationship with Linda.

Heather was overjoyed when she heard her Mommy would be coming home. Life would return to normal. “Mommy, when are you coming home?!”

Linda beamed at Heather’s excitement. “On the 11th, sweetie. That’s three days from now.”

Heather’s exuberance plummeted. She snuggled Kitty for comfort. “Not today?” she asked with frustration.

“Not today, but soon!” Linda shifted her weight from her right elbow to her back.

“I don’t want to wait! I want to give you a hug and a kiss, Mommy. I miss you a lot. I miss you reading bedtime stories and tucking me in.”

Linda wished that, at that moment, she could hug her daughter. “I miss you a lot too, Heather. And I can’t wait to give you hugs and kisses! I’ll read you bedtime stories, you’ll read to me, I’ll tuck you in bed…just be a little patient, sweetie. You’ll see—the time will fly.”

Paul could tell how much Linda loved her daughter. She lit up whenever she talked about her or to her. Heather was certainly a very important part of her life. And, although he never met her, Paul knew Heather felt the same.

“Mommy, what’s London like?”

“Oh it’s beautiful, Heather. It has lots of beautiful historical buildings and big big parks, too. It reminds me of New York a little.” She added, turning to Paul that “the people here are very nice, too.” He gave her a smile and she turned away blushing.

“Are you taking lots of pictures?”

“Yes, I’ve taken lots of photos of musicians. I’ve also taken photos around London and in the country side.” Paul snuggled with her and tousled the split ends of her golden hair.

Excited, Heather asked if she could see them.

“Sure. After I get them developed, I’ll show them to you.” Linda turned to Paul, who gave her a small kiss. “Remember when I said that I was staying with Paul?” she said in a friendly mom voice. She and Paul gave each other knowing smiles.

“Yeah,” she quietly replied.

“Would you like to say ‘hi’ to him?”

Paul could feel his heart pulse as Linda asked the question. This was his opportunity. What if Heather didn’t want to speak to him?

Heather buried her face in Kitty, standing in shy silence. Who was Paul? Was he nice? Would she like him?

Linda knew Heather was still there—she could hear the phone receiver rubbing against something. “He’s very friendly, Heather. I think you’ll like him.”

“Ok,” she relented. At least she had Kitty by her side.

Linda handed the phone to Paul and whispered, “she’s shy” in his ear. The telephone cord stretched above Linda’s face and barely reached Paul’s side of the bed. Linda moved the telephone holder between them. She wanted to listen to their conversation yet, at the same time, wanted to give them some semblance of privacy. Listening would make Paul even more nervous than she knew he already was. She was sure he would be friendly to Heather. Whether he could coax a conversation out of her had yet to be seen.

Paul clutched the white telephone receiver with his left hand. Nervous, he decided the best approach was to be overly friendly. “’ello Heather! My name’s Paul.”

The man on the other end of the phone seemed friendly…and talked like some of Mommy’s other friends, like Eric Clapping. She waited for him to speak again.

“It’s very nice to speak with you. Your Mummy’s told me lots about you.”

This made Heather nervous and embarrassed—what had he heard?

Heather’s silence made Paul nervous. Their conversation wasn’t going well. He tried again. “What do you do for fun?” he asked as his right foot hung over the side of the bed.

“Drawing,” she whispered.

With mock surprise, Paul exclaimed “me too! What do you like to draw?”

After a few seconds, she replied, “Mommy”.

Paul beamed. “Does your Mummy have lots of your pictures on her refrigerator door?” he asked while looking at Linda.

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you like to color?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she responded.

“What kinds of things do you like to color then?”

“Coloring books,” she said as she fidgeted with the phone.

“Do you like to read?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too, Heather. Do you have any favorite stories?”

Heather paused again. “Corduroy,” she finally replied.

Still nervous, Paul began to fidget with the telephone cord. “Mmm, I’ve never heard of that one. What’s it about?”

“A teddy bear.”

Three words—Paul was making progress. “Do you have a teddy bear?”

“No,” she said as she scratched Kitty behind the ears.

‘Foiled,’ thought Paul. “Do you like them?”

“Yeah.”

Heather would answer his questions but he could hear that she was still uncomfortable. Paul needed to break the ice. He had to get her to laugh. “We have lots of things in common, Heather. We both like to read. We both like drawing and coloring. We both like teddy bears. Will you marry me?”

Linda gave Paul an amused and shocked look—what would Heather say?

Heather giggled. Paul was being silly; she couldn’t get married. “I can’t, you’re too old!” she told Paul and then giggled some more.

“Oh yes, of course, I forgot that. Well,” he said, turning to Linda, “maybe I should marry your Mummy. That’d be good.” Paul gave Linda an adoring smile while his bit his tongue.

Linda politely smiled back. She loved Paul but she wasn’t so sure about marriage. She already had a bad experience because she rushed into it the first time. So why rush into it again? It had only been five weeks. Linda needed more time.

Heather went silent again. Did Mommy have to get married? Her thoughts were interrupted by Paul’s giggles. Martha was licking the bottom of his foot.

“Oh, sorry, Heather, my dog was just licking my foot. Her name is Martha. She’s a black and white sheepdog. She’s very friendly. Your Mum likes her. And she likes your Mum. Do you like dogs?”

“They’re ok.”

By no fault of his own, Linda could tell he was struggling; her daughter was shy around new people. She figured that if she introduced Heather to Paul over the phone she wouldn’t be as shy when she met him in person.

Paul mentally sighed—Heather had gone quiet again. Linda wasn’t kidding when she told him that Heather was shy. He persevered, though, remembering that Heather had a stuffed animal named Kitty. “I like kitty cats, too,” he commented. “I have a kitty named Thisbe, who’s also quite fond of your mum. My friend, John, loves ‘em, too. He once owned a cat named Elvis.” Paul hoped Heather would laugh or even giggle at the last comment but, instead, she went quiet.

Paul’s humility always warmed Linda’s heart—he talked about his friend John like he wasn’t anyone but his close friend.

“Do you have any pets in New York?”

Heather gazed fondly at Kitty. “Yes,” she answered.

Paul could hear Heather smiling as she gave her response. He latched onto the topic and delightedly ran with it. “What kinds of pets do you have?” he asked with genuine interest.

“A kitty cat,” she bashfully replied.

“What’s your kitty cat’s name?”

“Kitty.” Heather then meekly asked, “can I talk to Mommy?”

When Paul handed the receiver back to her, she could tell he was a bit disappointed that it hadn’t gone as well as he wanted. She held Paul’s hand while he laid back on his pillow in thought. Linda knew that Paul was already thinking of ways to win Heather over—that was his way.

On the phone, she told Heather that Paul was coming back to New York City to stay with them for a few weeks. Heather perfunctorily accepted it, then excitedly told her mother that she had helped Delilah bake a pineapple upside down cake. She ate so many cherries that her tongue turned red.

She knew that getting used to Paul would take time. Linda tried to control her ingrained man-hungry nature, if only for the sake of her daughter, but a man in a band was practically irresistible. The thing that weighed on her mind the most, though, was Paul’s effortless proposal.

It also weighed on Heather’s. Paul was coming to stay with her and Mommy when she came back from London. She hoped to get the chance to spend time with her—what if Mommy didn’t want to any more? Heather was not happy that her mother was bringing yet another man over to the apartment.

For as long as she could remember, her mother was boy crazy. Even though none of the men to whom Heather was momentarily introduced were described as anything other than a “friend”, she saw through that title when they were constantly holding hands, giving each other googly eyes or, even worse, kissing. The men were friendly but none of them seemed to care about her as much as her Mommy did. Heather had learned to accept that she didn’t have a father. Why couldn’t her mother accept that, too?


	16. Chapter 16

Linda and Paul anonymously arrived in New York on the very overcast afternoon of Friday, October 11th. Paul wasn’t used to arriving in such a public place with no fanfare; it was a refreshing change. Having a beard instead of being the clean-shaven Beatle everyone recognized certainly helped. To get in the New York mood, he suggested they get a cab to her apartment. He stared out the window at the scenery along the way. Linda pointed out some landmarks, both famous and personal, as well as her building when it became visible. It was the only red brick building at the corner of 83rd and Lexington with two floors of limestone toward the top. When he exited the cab, Paul craned his head upward to count the columns of windows. Though the building had eleven floors and a penthouse, Paul stopped counting when he reached the 10th floor; somewhere along that row of windows was Linda’s apartment.

As she stood on the solitary limestone step in the arched doorframe, Linda searched for her keys. She brought Paul out of the clouds, telling him “hey, country dreamer, I hope you like walking up stairs. There are 20 flights of them.” Paul’s eyes widened. “Only joking—we’ll take the elevator.”

“The lift,” he corrected.

“We’re in America, so it’s called a lift.” She shook her head “I mean elevator. Elevator.”

“Gotcha!” he laughed.

The joke was soon on him, as he discovered the elevator was out of order. As he and Linda ascended the stairs, Paul sung “Twenty Flight Rock”.

 _Ooh, well, I got a girl with a record machine_  
 _When it comes to rockin’, she’s a queen_  
 _Went to a club on a Mon-day night,_  
 _Where I saw Lin, a gorgeous sight,_  
 _She lives on the tenth floor uptown,  
_ _Elevator’s broken down,_

 _But, I walk one, two flight, three flight, four,_  
 _Five, six, seven flight, gettin’ sore_  
 _Up on the eighth I’m startin’ to sag,_  
 _One more before I’m ready to drag,  
_ _I get to the top and I’m rea-dy to rock!_

Linda was entertained by Paul’s impromptu performance. She was always amazed at just how creative he could be.

By the fifth floor, Paul was forlorn and panting, with some sweat on his forehead.

“Getting tired?” Linda teased.

“Never,” panted Paul.

She continued to tease him. “Is that sweat on your brow?”

“No, it’s, uh, enthusiasm,” he lied.

Linda tilted her head, giving Paul a doubtful smile. “Do you always have this much enthusiasm when you climb stairs?”

“Just when I’m with you, Lin,” he winked between gasps. “I can’t believe you do this every day.”

“Usually, the elevator works but sometimes it breaks. Sometimes, I have to walk up 10 flights of stairs.” she plainly stated.

“What if you have a heavy load of groceries? You just carry ‘em up all these stairs?”

“You have to. Once, when I bought ice cream this past summer, the elevator broke so I had to hurry up the stairs. And once, after carrying the groceries through the pouring rain, I had to go up the stairs. I didn’t want to go out but Heather was sick and I needed to get her medicine and some food. But, you do what you have to do, Paul—if I don’t do it, nobody else will.”

Linda’s answer took Paul aback—back when Brian Epstein, The Beatles’ manager, was alive, he depended on him for everything from booking tours to arranging vacations to restaurant reservations to giving him money. Paul even had a housekeeper to clean his house. If he had to carry something heavy, he could just drive somewhere and park his car in the driveway. Linda didn’t have any of those things; she took care of herself and Heather on her own.

After climbing the stairs, Paul felt like he needed a drink. He rushed to the loveseat.

“Oh no, you don’t get off that easy,” she joked. “Can you put the bags in my bedroom? I’ll get you a glass of water. I don’t have any cream or milk for tea.”

“That’s alright, love. I’ll have the tea. Two sugars, thanks.”

Once he put their luggage in Linda’s tiny bedroom, Paul had a look around the small apartment, which was very cramped, but charming. The apartment walls were painted hospital white, but Linda made it her own by posting solid colored backgrounds. Paul assumed they were for photo shoots. He saw the khaki striped, faded love seat in front of him. Behind the love seat was a makeshift bedroom with panels for walls. Inside there was a cot that lied lengthwise against the wall of the apartment that didn’t have windows. A milk crate full of toys, including wooden blocks and a toy truck, was next to the bed. What looked like a tiger costume lay on top of the crate.

Against the opposite wall, he saw a small, dark wooden desk with stacks of photos that had to be put away. Atop the back of the desk were some photos of Linda and her family from when she was younger. One of those photos was of a woman who looked very similar to Linda, but was older. He realized that it was Linda’s mum, who had died in a plane crash a few years ago. That was one of the things that instantly bonded them, just like him and John did when his Mum died. As he felt emptiness in the middle of his chest grow, he forced himself to turn away and concentrate on something else.

Behind the desk were white-painted bookshelves built into the wall. On the other side of that wall was the kitchenette. Photo boxes replaced most of the space that books were supposed to fill. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that a small portion of those bookshelves were filled with books, most of which were about photography.

When she emerged from the kitchenette, Paul had continued his study of the titles on her bookshelf, his head awkwardly cocked to the right.

“There’s no charge for touching the books,” Linda quipped.

Paul chortled as she handed him the tea “Ta, love,” he said in his lilting Liverpool accent. The motherly instinct in her instantly reminded him to blow on it a bit. Paul couldn’t help but giggle at the innuendo.

After they had finished, Linda showed Paul where he could put his clothes among the mess in her room.

“You have a nice bed, Lin,” he commented as he did some test bounces on the bed, which barely fit into her room. “We’ll have to make good use of it.” Linda’s bed looked very inviting—it had a pink and yellow flower patterned quilt neatly folded on top of matching pink and yellow fleece blankets. “Your sheets even match!” Unbeknownst to Paul, it was Linda’s favorite set; her mom gave it to her before she left to study at the University of Arizona.

“Always eager, hmm?”

Paul gave her an impish grin.

“We will,” Linda laughed. “I have to go to the A & P and the health food store up the block to get some food. I don’t have much in the apartment—sound familiar?” Paul chuckled. “Heather will be hungry when she comes home. Come to think of it, I’m pretty hungry, too.”

“I’ll go with you, love. I’ve never seen an American market before.”

 

Linda walked up the stairs with the lighter bags, containing a box of cereal, a package of spaghetti, a loaf of bread, apples, onion and jars of peanut butter and strawberry jelly. Paul carried the heavier items, which included milk, cream, orange juice, Heather’s favorite apple juice, hamburger meat, and pasta sauce. His enthusiasm showed as he ascended the stairs.

When they came home, Linda made Paul an open-faced peanut butter sandwich. Paul hadn’t ever tasted peanut butter. Surprisingly, he liked it. Linda told him that a peanut butter sandwich and milk was one of Heather’s favorites. She gave him another cup of tea then told him that she was going downstairs to get her daughter. Paul’s palms began to sweat.

Though excited to spend time with Linda, he was anxious to meet Heather. The more Linda talked about her, the more he was looking forward to their first meeting. However, now that the day was actually here, he was beginning to second-guess himself. What if he didn’t like her? Or if she didn’t like him? Or didn’t even want to meet him?

Paul was brought out of his spiral of worries. He rubbished the thought—he loved children! For as long as he could remember, he was always the one to entertain his younger cousins at family reunions, playing games, telling stories and singing songs. Julian delighted in spending time with Paul, too. It didn’t matter whether they were drawing, reading, singing, roughhousing or playing with toys—they always had loads of fun together.

Though there was no better friend than John, but the same could not be said of his parenting skills. It was no secret that Julian was an accident, which is, for the most part, how John treated him. Cyn did a fine job of mothering Julian, but he needed a father figure as well. Knowing this, Paul gave Julian attention whenever he could. He also felt a sense of responsibility, especially now that John and Cyn were going through a divorce. It was an unwritten rule that, during a break up, friends of a couple had to choose sides. Paul thought that was rubbish—he had been a friend to both John and Cyn for almost 10 years! He supported John’s quest for happiness, but not the way in which he was going about it.

These recollections reignited the sting of the many conversations-turned-shouting matches with Jane about starting a family. Paul was growing impatient—he wanted a child of his own to raise with someone who he loved unconditionally. He thought that Jane was that person. But after a five-year relationship with her, he was back to square one…until Linda.

 

Full of excitement, Linda hurried down the many flights of stairs to greet Heather in the lobby. She couldn’t wait to see her!

Heather stood next to her grandpa Lee, thinking of something to describe for her turn at “I Spy” when she saw her mother turn the corner. Linda beamed when she heard Heather gasp _“MOMMY!”_ She dashed to her mother to give her the hug she had been saving for weeks. Linda crouched down, welcoming her daughter into her arms.

“Mommy, I missed you!” Heather said over her mother’s right shoulder. “I missed you so so so much!”

Though Linda didn’t often cry, she had the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Linda sweetly kissed Heather on her left cheek and told her with a loving smile, that she missed her, too. Usually, whenever she picked Heather up, that was the point Heather let go. This time, however, Heather held on tight, stirring a sea of guilt and relief in Linda. She had never left her daughter for this long and had never felt this relieved to hug her.

Heather had never missed her mother this much—she didn’t want to let go. Her mother’s hugs always had a way of soothing her somehow. Best of all, Mommy didn’t have Paul come with her like she said. Mommy made her talk to him twice more in the days that passed; he was nice but it felt strange talking to a man on the phone who she didn’t know. Plus, now that Mommy was home, she could have her mother all to herself.

Linda gave Heather another heartfelt kiss on her cheek, which Heather returned. But, even then, Heather still wouldn’t let go. Linda then tickled her stomach, making her daughter pull back from her as she giggled and smiled with glee. It had been what felt like a long while since she heard her daughter’s joyful, breezy giggles.

Realizing she wasn’t holding her mother, Heather took her right hand. If she kept her close, Mommy couldn’t leave again. Heather was used to her mother leaving for the night and, sometimes, for a few days, but never as long as she had this time.

Heather’s clinginess to her mother did not go unnoticed by Lee; disapprovingly, he shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest. Moving closer to his wife, he stood there watching with silent, stern disapproval. He made a mental note to discuss his concerns with Linda before she took his darling granddaughter upstairs.

“You grew a little taller, Heather!” Linda exclaimed.

“I don’t feel taller, Mommy.”

Linda smiled and laughed a little. “I meant that your jeans are too short, sweetie,” she said, pointing to her ankles. “I’ll have to hem them.”

“What’s that?”

“Remember when I made your pants shorter a few months ago by folding up the extra fabric when your pants were too long? Well now I’ll have to use some of that extra fabric to make your pants longer.”

“That tickled!”

“You couldn’t stop laughing.”

“You were tickling me!” The memory made her ankles feel ticklish, which made her giggle again. Happily, Heather gave her mother another kiss on the cheek. Linda smiled back with a twinge of worry; Heather had always been close to her mother, but never this clingy.

“Do you have all your things together?”

“Yeah,” she said, guarding her mother.

“What about Kitty?” Linda asked, pointing to her daughter’s best friend who was lying on the floor.

Grandma Monique bent down gracefully in her bouffant black-and-white printed dress to give Heather her beloved stuffed animal. In her hasty departure for her mother’s arms, Heather had dropped him. After thanking her grandma, Kitty received a tight one-armed snuggle and a sweet kiss as a heartfelt apology from his owner. Handing him to her mother, she said, “Mommy, Kitty missed you, too.”

Linda took the daughter’s stuffed animal, giving him scratches behind the ears and a kiss atop his forehead. “Now do you have everything together?”

“Yes.”

“Earlier this morning, we packed up all of her things in the suitcase. Kitty was the only one who didn’t go in there,” Monique explained.

“He can’t breathe in there, grandma!”

Linda’s hand was getting sweaty. She tried letting go but Heather wouldn’t let her. Not wanting to make a fuss, she stood up and continued to hold her daughter’s hand.

Looking at her father, she saw a familiar look of disapproval his face. Though, by now, Linda had become accustomed to it, whenever she saw it, a part of her could not help but feel inadequate. Since her mother had tragically died, that look had become more hurtful. Her efforts to become the apple of her father’s eye were Sisyphean. At times, Linda waivered from emotional extremes on the subject. Mostly, Linda tried to break the tension the same way she always did—by trying to make nice with her father. “Thanks again for taking care of Heather, dad.”

“She was no trouble, Linda. We had lots of fun,” said Monique as she smiled at her granddaughter.

“Mommy, I drew you lots of pictures! And we made cookies! Grandpa and I played hide and seek. And he showed me all his pretty art. It was just like a museum—I wasn’t allowed to touch anything. The cook brought breakfast to me every morning. The scrambled eggs were yummy. Once, he made a swan out of an apple. It was so pretty. And I went on a pony once.”

Fussing with Heather’s Kelly green sweater collar, Linda smiled, “it sounds like you had fun.”

“Yeah, I did, Mommy. But I missed you lots. I’m glad you came home.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Linda saw her father’s scornful face as he cracked his knuckles. Lee was never one for small talk—he was always in ‘get-down-to-business’ mode, especially since Linda had divorced. He directed his disapproval at Linda; his daughter, once the apple of his eye, was now a single mother without a steady job.

“How was London?” Monique asked, hoping to break the building tension between her husband and step-daughter. “Did you get any good shots?”

“London was fabulous. The scene there is so close-knit,” Linda told Monique as Heather drew her fingers along the outside seam of her mother’s bell-bottom jeans. “And pretty much everyone is nice. Jimi is one of the nicest. I saw him perform an impromptu show in a club. It was really hot.” Linda hoped that answer would placate her; Monique just nodded, looking slightly confused, as she had no idea who Jimi was; she was sure Lee would tell her that he was yet another man his daughter had shacked up with. She also took it as her cue to get out of there quickly—the longer she stayed, the more she would have to divulge…and the longer Paul would wait. “Ok, Heather,” she encouraged, “say thank you to grandma and grandpa for taking such good care of you while I was gone. And then give them a goodbye kiss. We have to go upstairs to put your things away.”

Disappointment crept up on Heather’s face. “I’m gonna miss grandma and grandpa. Bye, grandpa,” Heather sadly said, moving to give her grandfather a hug. “Thank you. I had a lot of fun.”

“Bye, kiddo,” he said with a kiss. “We’re not leaving right away. I want to go talk to your Mom for a little bit.”

“Why? Are you gonna fight and yell?” Heather asked as she shifted Kitty in her arms.

“Because I haven’t seen her in a while. You’ll go with grandma for a little bit.” Heather obliged, knowing her grandpa would get mad it she didn’t; she was well aware he was going to chew her mother out yet again. “Bye, Mommy,” she hugged. “Don’t yell at grandpa.”

“I don’t yell at grandpa.”

Squeezing her mother tighter, she clarified “but you and grandpa fight and I don’t like it.”

Linda could not say she was surprised Heather noticed she and her father had their share of disagreements; Heather had a sharp mind for her age. Rubbing Heather’s back, she agreed “me too.” Though a slow, steady stream of people walked through the lobby, as they hugged, Heather and Linda individually focused on the fulfillment of their mother-daughter bond. Her father’s loud clearing of his throat dropped her out of her motherly meditation. Pulling away, she looked Heather in the eye as reassured “I’m just going to talk with grandpa for a few minutes. You can go play with grandma in the meantime, ok?”

Heather shook her head ‘no’. With guilt, Linda’s heart dropped. “I’ll be back soon. I’m not leaving, Heather—I promise,” she whispered. With a kiss, Linda shakily encouraged “go play with grandma, sweetie.”

Monique took Heather by the hand, leading her to the other side of the lobby. Linda heard Heather ask to continue I Spy but Monique refused; she knew her husband was about to unleash heaps of disapproval on his daughter, the black sheep of the family. Instead, Monique insisted they play tic-tac-toe.

“Thanks for taking care of Heather while I was gone,” Linda started, her hands shoved in her pockets.

“It was nice to see her,” said Lee, folding his arms.

Uncomfortably, Linda added, “it sounds like she had a good time.” Biding her time, she knew her father would be lecturing her any moment. “I really appreciate you doing it.”

“You’re welcome,” he perfunctorily said. “But I didn’t really have a choice, did I? If Monique and I didn’t take care of her, who would?”

“I…“

“You’re not a child any more, Linda! You need to get your life together. You have a daughter and you’re not even married.”

Defensiveness swelled inside Linda. “You don’t need to be married to have a child or to raise one. Women have been doing it for years, whether their husbands were present or not. I think I’m doing a good job of raising Heather—she’s kind, she has a good heart and such a sense of imagination and wonder…I’m really proud of her, Dad!”

Heather’s ears perked at the mention of her name. As she looked at her mother, she asked her grandma “why are Mommy and grandpa fighting?”

“They’re not. Come on, let’s go back to the game. You’ve got me cornered!” But Heather continued to watch her grandpa and her mother argue. Taking a step toward them, Monique admonished Heather. To distract her, Monique put the pen in her granddaughter’s hand. “It’s your turn, Heather,” she demanded.

The frustration and disappointment in Lee’s heart relented briefly, telling his daughter with a hint of a smile “Heather’s a good kid.” Returning to the course of emotion his heart carved for his daughter, he said “but you need to be a responsible parent. Leaving for almost 3 weeks to go on vacation to London isn’t being responsible.”

“But I didn’t just leave Heather on her own—I left her with people I trusted and who she’d feel comfortable with. It’s not like I just left her with no communication—I called Heather practically every day. I even sent her post cards just like she asked.” Tucking her hair behind her ears, she continued “I didn’t go on vacation—I had to go to London for work, Dad. I’m a photographer. That’s my job! But I came back because I wouldn’t…” Linda hesitated. Making any comment about how she was not a good mother would open a can of worms. Instead, she continued, “because it got too difficult to say goodbye to Heather.”

“Who were you staying with?” he quizzed.

“A friend.”

Lee sneered while shaking his head, “a boyfriend.” He knew Linda was trying to pull the wool over his eyes.

Linda decided to neither confirm nor deny her father’s suspicion; as an adult, it was none of his business. “I had a friend in London and when he heard that I was coming over, he offered to let me stay with him for free. It’s nice to not be on your own in a city that isn’t your home.”

Lee shook his head again, believing his daughter protested a hint too much. “Who were you taking pictures of?”

“I took pictures of Jimi…” Linda searched. “The Animals, The Moody Blues, Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames…” she lied. “And then some pictures of the English countryside. The grass over there is so green, the air is so fresh. It was wonderful.”

“A photographer _isn’t_ a job, Linda. You need a real job that pays the bills.”

“It’s paying my bills,” Linda retorted. “It’s what I love doing. I couldn’t be happy doing anything else. A photographer is an artist, just like the people who you represent. How is that any different?”

Ignoring the hole in his argument, he began his habitual speech. “You should have finished college like your brothers and sister did,” he started. Linda sighed, but let her father continue. “And look where they are now! You could’ve had a real advantage. I wasn’t so lucky—I had to work very hard to go to college. My hard work paid off because I got into Harvard. I would have loved it if you received that same quality education. You were so good when you were little.” He paused. Smoothing his thinning black hair, he took a few nonsensical steps, then turned back to his daughter. “But, as you grew older, no matter what I did—not even offering you a pony if you got your grades up—you wouldn’t study. You were more interested in music and boys. That is not going to get you very far. Not far at all.” Perking up, he decided, “Heather is not going to be like that, Linda. She is attending Dalton where she will receive a five-star education to set her on the right path. While you were away, I always made sure she did her homework. I even checked it for her. If something was wrong, I had her sit there until she could figure out why it was wrong. That way, she can fend for herself later in life.”

Linda disapprovingly frowned. “Heather will be whatever she wants to be. I want her to keep trying new things and to discover the world. Grades aren’t everything.”

Lee shook his head “an education takes you further than good will. Just look where it got me.”

Folding her arms, Linda quietly asked “are you happy where it got you? Can you honestly say you’re happy?”

“I enjoy my work. It’s earned me a good income so I could provide for my family.”

“Money isn’t the end-all and be-all either. It’s happiness that’s most important. Heather’s happy so I’m happy. I love Heather and I love what I do. That’s all that matters.”

Lee moved a step closer to Linda. “Did you notice how much Heather clung to you? She didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want to leave you. Heather’s never done that before.”

“She missed me,” Linda stated defensively.

“You were gone for too long!” Lee drew a sigh then continued, “it’s not…”

“Mommy!” Heather exclaimed. Normally, Linda would have scolded Heather for interrupting. In this case, however, the interruption was opportune.

“Heather, your mother and I were not finished talking. It’s rude that you interrupted.”

Linda shook her head. “We’re done,” she disagreed.

“Sorry,” Monique shrugged. “Heather just couldn’t wait any longer. She missed her mother.” Lee grumbled, casting aside his wife’s half-hearted apology.

Linda realized that just because the interruption was quite welcome did not make it right. “You know interrupting isn’t nice, Heather. What are you going to do?”

Looking up, Heather apologized to her grandfather, telling him that she knew what she had done was wrong.

“You’re right, Heather. Thank you.”

“Can I have a hug?” she asked as she pet her stuffed companion on the head.

Smiling, Heather met her grandpa halfway. Thought, she was thankful that his anger subsided, she knew that he was still angry at her mother. “Why were you and Mommy fighting?”

“We weren’t,” he explained. “We were just talking.”

Heather disagreed. “No, you were fighting. You looked mad at Mommy.”

“No, I’m not,” Lee said, scratching his neck. “I just want to make sure you and your Mom and ok. I want to talk to her some more. You and grandma can go play for a little while longer.”

Hurt and disappointed, Heather looked down at the dark blue carpet. “I want to be with Mommy,” she whined.

Placing her hand atop Heather’s head, Linda told her father “we’ve got to go. I want to help Heather put her things away and give her something to eat.”

“And play!” Heather exclaimed.

“And play,” Linda smiled. “Want to go say goodbye to grandma and grandpa?” Heather kissed her grandparents goodbye again, promising to be a good girl and to continue to do well in school.

Linda kissed both Monique and, out of politeness, her father. With a kiss in return, his parting words to her were “she’s a good kid. Make sure she grows up right, Linda.”

 

When they arrived at their apartment door, Heather jumped up and down, yelling, “Mommy, we’re home!” Linda quieted her daughter. Before she opened the door, she reminded Heather that there was someone waiting in the apartment who was very excited to meet her.

Initially, Heather was puzzled. But, once she figured it out, her heart and expression sank.

Paul’s ears drew his eyes toward the loud creak of the apartment door. There, standing next to Linda, was a small girl clutching a stuffed tabby cat. He gave Heather a friendly smile and waved.


	17. Chapter 17

Like a deer in the headlights, Heather panicked, hugging Kitty tightly while looking at Paul.

“Hello!” he said welcomingly. Paul noticed that Heather had beautiful blonde hair just like her mother’s. Heather’s eyes were hazel, unlike her mother’s gorgeous, gleaming and kind blue-green eyes.

Heather recognized the man’s voice as the one she heard over the phone last week. Although he seemed friendly over the phone, she was still nervous. Did she really want to talk to him? He was going to take Mommy away from her just like grandpa did moments ago in the lobby.

Linda kneeled beside her daughter. “Heather, remember when I let you talk to my friend from London last week? Sweetie, this is my friend Paul.”

Paul gave her another friendly smile, causing Heather to look down at the cream white carpet.

“Paul, this is my daughter, Heather,” she said with motherly pride. To coax her out of her shell, Linda gave Heather a kiss on her right cheek.

While comforted by her mother’s kiss, Heather still felt alone as she pulled away. She hugged Kitty instead, his left cheek against her right. She scratched and petted her only friend in the room behind the ears.

Paul stood up and carefully walked toward her, mindful of keeping a safe distance; he knew she was shy…and a little defensive. Kneeling down to be at her eye-level, he told her how nice it was to meet her because of how much he heard about her. “Who’ve you got there with you?” he asked, pointing to Kitty.

Heather’s protective instinct overtook her feelings of jealousy. She gave her mother a hug; Mommy wasn’t for sharing.

Semi-reluctantly, Linda embraced her daughter. She didn’t think Heather would be this unwilling to meet Paul. She had met so many of her one-night stands and boyfriends that, by this time, she assumed Heather would be used to it. Heather’s hug, which, normally, gave Linda refreshing joy, instead, instilled nervousness, frustration and empathy. Her motherly instinct could tell Heather was upset. Had she been putting her needs before her daughter? She had spent sfclo many weeks in London while she started a new school; that was an important stage of Heather’s life. When Linda left, she seemed sad, but she figured Heather would get over that.

During the time Linda was away, she and Paul grew very close. Though she didn’t want to admit it, it would be difficult to imagine her life without him. Linda had pushed away the fact that any man with whom she had a serious relationship would need Heather’s approval.

With tears in her eyes, Heather hugged her mother tighter.

Linda’s heart sank. She had pushed her little girl too far. Selfish as it was, she was going to have to push back. She couldn’t force her daughter to like Paul, but she could butter her up a bit. Linda would have to drive a hard bargain to get Heather to oblige. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” she whispered in her ear. Though silent, Heather’s sniffles told her everything. After giving her a kiss, she asked Heather if she wanted to do one of her favorite things—sleep. “How ‘bout a nap?”

Heather’s head, buried in her mother’s right shoulder, shook her head ‘no’.

“You can even sleep in my bed,” Linda said, sweetening the deal.

Heather still wouldn’t budge. Wanting Mommy all to herself, she held on tight.

Linda felt her sweater absorbing Heather’s tears. Without looking at Paul, she could tell he was getting nervous. Linda didn’t even want to look. She rubbed her daughter’s back. “Want to stay with me?” she asked. Heather shook her head ‘yes’.

“Ok,” she whispered with a kiss. “Come,” she suggested. “You’ll sit with Paul and I and have a cup of tea.” When Heather shook her head ‘no’, Linda reminded her, “Heather, Paul flew all the way across the Atlantic Ocean with me to come here. Remember when you talked to him on the phone? Come be a good girl and we’ll say ‘hello’.”

Heather pulled away. “NO!” she yelled. “I DON’T WANT TO!” Knowing that she was lying, she added, “he’s mean and stupid and I NEVER EVER want to meet him! I hate him!” Her tears fell on her sneakers. Why was Paul here? She did not want another one of Mommy’s friends to be her babysitter—she wanted to see Mommy. Angry and confused, Heather buried her face in Kitty’s neck.

She and Paul had traveled all this way only to have Heather throw a fit. Furious, she yelled, “go to your room right now!” Heather did so with pleasure.

An uncomfortable silence surrounded Linda and Paul, as they could hear Heather sobbing. “I’ll make you a cup of tea,” Linda offered.

Paul desperately needed a cigarette—his nerves were shot. Taking a short breath, he stammered, “I-I-I n-need a ciggie” and left.

Once Paul found the fire escape, he stood out in the cool New York air. His hand shaking, he tried to concentrate on his cigarette instead of the painful memories of what had just occurred. One phrase just wouldn’t go away—“I never ever want to meet him”. Paul’s heart ached—it was all going to perfectly before they came to New York. And now Linda’s little girl did not even want to meet him. Perhaps, though, that was because she had a temper tantrum. Linda did say that Heather was shy, though.

He fervently wished he could skip the introduction process. Linda told him so many stories about her that, by the time he met her moments ago, he felt like he knew her. Paul wanted to play, laugh, read, draw and whatever else he could with her. He wanted to treat her as if she was his own daughter.

As he hugged himself to keep warm, he used the cuff of his white shirt to wipe away the beginnings of tears. The roughness of the edge of his maroon velvet jacket grazed the skin around his eye.

While Linda gave Paul some time alone, she started to unpack, ignoring Heather’s attempts to annoy her by stamping her feet and yelling. She was still plenty angry at her daughter, though. Although she knew Heather was just having a tantrum, she still worried about the future of her and Paul’s relationship. She genuinely loved the man who she once only knew as a Beatle.

After what felt like a reasonable amount of time, she went the fire escape, figuring that Paul would be there. Heather would be fine stewing in her tantrum alone the apartment.

Linda opened the door to find Paul leaning against the fire escape in his maroon velvet suit. She saw a little puff of smoke rise to the cloudy sky. That told her that Paul was trying to distract himself from the situation at hand—he always did tricks with his cigarettes then.

Paul could feel Linda’s presence behind him. Unsure of what to say, he gave a large sniffle; the cool air had caused his nose to run. Feeling wetness under his nose, he used the back of his right hand to smear it away.

“How ‘bout a tissue?” Linda offered. Paul turned to his left. He stood there for a few seconds, then took the tissue from the box. She offered him a bag from the market into which he could throw his tissues.

“Thank you,” Paul mumbled. Disappointed and confused, he was unable to meet Linda’s eyes.

Linda clasped her left hand in Paul’s right, leaning close to him for warmth and love. They looked out at the barely distinguishable buildings on the horizon in as much silence as they could—it _was_ New York City, after all.

When the moment was right, Linda put her still warm lips to Paul’s cold right bearded cheek, giving him a long, loving kiss.

Finally able to muster the courage to look at her, Paul turned to Linda and told her how much he loved her.

His words brought a smile to Linda’s face. “I love you, too, Paul,” she replied, rubbing his right shoulder.

“I wanted her to like me…but she _hates me_ , Lin.” he moaned in a thick Scouse accent. His primal emotions always brought out his accent.

“She doesn’t. It was just a tantrum,” Linda insisted. Reclasping his hand in hers, she continued, “I’m sorry she said it but she didn’t mean it.”

“I talked to her on the phone,” he said. A cool gust of air blew against his face, causing him to look down at his heavily creased black leather penny loafers.

Linda shivered, as she reminded him “it’s not the same thing as meeting someone in person.”

“I really would like to get to know her.”

“I know you would.”

His body unable to stand any more cold air, Paul’s teeth began to involuntarily chatter. For warmth, he vigorously rubbed his right upper arm.

“Why don’t you come inside to warm up so you don’t catch a cold? You can wash your face and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Between his teeth chattering, he stammered out the word “alright”. Paul hoped Linda was right—he didn’t know what he would do without her.

 

Back in the apartment, Paul went to the bathroom and Linda to the kitchen. Heather was still in her room, unbeknownst to Linda, fast asleep.

Once he and Linda sat down for a cup of tea, though exhausted, he felt much better.

When Linda told Paul she was going to go talk to Heather, he became slightly nervous. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and then went to Heather’s room. With her best friend beside her, Linda found Heather snuggled under the covers.

She woke Heather up without her normal gentle touch. After about a minute, Heather stirred. The wet spot on her pillow near her eyes had not yet dried.

“Wake up,” Linda instructed.

Slowly, Heather did as she was told; her heart was racing, as she knew she was in trouble.

“Sit up,” Linda ordered.

Again, Heather obliged. Scared, she kept Kitty close by and hid behind him as she winced.

“You have not been a good girl today, Heather. That’s not like you.” Heather’s head fell but Linda directed her to look up again. “You were rude to Paul, who’s a guest here. And you said some not so nice things to him. How would you feel if you were Paul?”

“Bad,” Heather sleepily whispered as she held back her tears.

“You owe Paul an apology, Heather. A big one.” Heather started to cry.

Linda stood up to get tissues. A forlorn Paul met Linda halfway with the tissue box. “Thanks,” she said with a smile. She knew that Paul had already forgiven Heather—he was always quick to do so, as he had a soft spot for children. And the fact that Heather was Linda’s child made her even more forgivable.

His eyes heavy, he replied, “you’re welcome.”

Linda could see how tired Paul was. “It’s gonna be a while. Go take a nap.”

Paul shook his head. “I’ll be alright. Go work your Mummy magic.”

Back in Heather’s room, Linda handed Heather the box of tissues, then went to get the trash can from the kitchen. Linda sat toward the foot of Heather’s bed in silence.

“Mommy, I missed you!” Heather told her mother. Her tone was as desperate as a weary, dehydrated desert traveler. “Can I have a hug?” If her mother obliged, it meant that she wasn’t angry.

Linda did as Heather asked. When she began to let go, Heather pulled her closer. “You don’t wanna let go, huh?” Heather stayed silent. “What’re you worried about?”

On her knees, hugging Kitty, Heather stayed silent again. She then whispered “you.”

Linda was surprised. “Me?” she asked. “Why are you worried about me?”

“What if you didn’t come back?” Heather said through tears.

As she looked her daughter in the eyes, Linda protested, “you know that’s not true, Heather. You knew that I’d come back.”

A fresh stream of tears emerged from her eyes as she vehemently shook her head ‘no’. Heather latched onto her mother, yelping, “I’m never gonna see you again!”

Linda was very confused. “I’m here right now,” she said as she handed tissues to her daughter. Instead of taking them, Heather leaned in toward her mother and sobbed, “I don’t want a babysitter, Mommy! I don’t want you to leave again!”

“A babysitter?”

“Paul,” Heather wailed. She let out another miserable sob before she began yelping in between hyperventilating.

“Heather, you have to calm down,” Linda reassured. But Heather did not stop crying. Linda said her daughter’s name gently twice, then waited again. When Heather still did not budge, she firmly ordered “Heather!” For a brief moment, there was stunned silence. In that space, Linda encouraged Heather to take a deep breath, hold it and then slowly exhale. About five minutes later, Heather had almost stopped, save for a few quiet yelps. Linda sat, hugging her emotionally exhausted daughter.

“Feel better?” Linda asked. Heather nodded her head ‘yes’ against her mother’s shoulder. “Can you, _calmly_ , tell me why you think you’re never going to see me again?”

When Mommy said it, it sounded silly—too silly to tell her mother why. Heather knew that her mother loved her very much because Mommy told her that all the time. Her hesitation made the everyday sounds of the apartment amplified—the building settling, the water running, the floor creaking. Heather was lost in her thoughts, crammed with worry.

“I can’t. It’s stupid.” Heather felt pressure from the emotion in her chest.

“It can’t be stupid if you were crying about it. You can tell me.”

Heather felt her worries dissipate as her embrace lingered. “It’s not important.”

“Oh, but it is important. It’s very important.”

Astonished, Heather asked her mother if she knew what it was.

“I don’t but I can tell that, whatever it is, it’s something that’s worrying you a lot. I think you’ll feel better if you say it aloud.”

Paul crept toward Heather’s bedroom partition. He couldn’t help but feel guilty as he watched her cling to her mother like a plastic bag caught on a tree.

Mustering her courage, Heather began to speak. “Mommy, are…are…you gonna…get m-married?”

Linda was unable to hide the shock from her face, but that did not matter, as Heather could not see her. “Married?” she asked, once she pulled back from her daughter. “What gave you that idea?”

Heather picked up Kitty, focusing on scratching his cheeks and chin. “Paul.”

“When did Paul say anything about getting married?”

“On the phone,” Heather clarified, feeling partial relief from her pent-up emotions evaporating. “He wanted to marry me. Then he said he was gonna marry you.” More tears streamed down Heather’s face.

Paul was not at all surprised at Heather’s perception. Often, younger children tend to notice things adults tend to overlook. His half-hearted joke was no exception—Paul had every intention of marrying Linda. To do so, however, would require much gentle persuasion.

After a few seconds, Linda felt relieved, yet her heart still raced. She had to be tactful in her response. Linda chose to stall for time to collect her thoughts. “You mean the first time you and Paul talked?”

Linda watched Heather curl into an increasingly fetal position. She was hugging Kitty, his face against her chest and her chin was resting atop his. The way her daughter held her stuffed animal was telling—it was as if Kitty was a real person who was comforting her.

Tense, Heather hugged Kitty tighter while her heart thumped. Heather buried her face in her inanimate best friend, filled with worry. She didn’t want to lose her mother just like she lost her daddy. Heather couldn’t remember anything about him but didn’t understand why Mommy was trying to replace him if, according to her, daddy loved her. Barely audibly, Heather replied ‘yes’ to her mother’s question.

“Paul was just joking about marrying you, Heather. You’re not old enough yet,” she replied with a little smile. “Is that why you thought you’d never see me again?”

Heather shook her head ‘no’. “I don’t want you to leave like Daddy.”

Heather was silent but Linda could hear her sniffling. What could she possibly tell her daughter that didn’t sound loaded? Mel wanted to move her and Heather to Africa. When Linda said ‘no’, it was a catalyst for their divorce. Mel left for Africa and Heather was left without a daddy; he didn’t even get to see Heather’s birth. Linda wasn’t devastated by her divorce—she liked Mel, but not enough to remain married to him and certainly not enough to blindly move to Africa. So, she wrote him a letter asking for a divorce.

After her mother suddenly died in a plane crash, she experienced feelings of abandonment, as she and her mother were close. Mel was a constant…at least for three years. Since he left, Linda had never felt like a single mom; she just did what she had to do to care for and raise Heather.

A year ago, Heather had asked why she didn’t have a daddy like Angela. Linda tried her best to non-partisainly explain their divorce. Heather seemed to accept her answer, so why was she worried? Linda quickly figured that her unexpectedly long trip with an indefinite ending had frightened Heather into thinking that she would be leaving, too. Heather was just as frightened before her mother left. Now she had returned, but with a man, Heather was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Soothingly, Linda kissed Heather. “I haven’t even thought about getting married again. In fact, I don’t want to at all,” she said lightheartedly. She stroked her daughter’s soft, slightly greasy blonde hair, the only part of her face that she could see.

Heather perked up. Peering above Kitty’s head, she asked, “will you still play with me? And read me stories? And hug me? And tuck me in? And…”

Linda reassured her daughter, “I’ll still do all the same things I used to do with you before I left for London. I’m still the same Mommy.” Handing her daughter more tissues, she added, “It’s just that there’s another person here. You know what it means to share. But I’ll still have time for you. I always will.”

Paul’s heart warmed at Linda’s reassurance to her daughter.

Heather needed confirmation that although her mother said she was the same person, that she still, indeed, loved her. So she asked.

“Of course!” Linda exclaimed. Overjoyed, Heather embraced her mother. While in a motherly embrace, Linda quietly assured her daughter “there is nothing you could ever do to make me stop loving you, Heather. You’re my daughter and I will always love you. Always.” Linda tightened her hug and gave Heather a kiss atop her head. She could feel Heather’s entire body relaxing as it realized one of the best feelings in the world—that her Mommy loved her. Heather didn’t want to let go, though for different reasons this time.

When Linda let go, once again, Heather wouldn’t. Linda asked “how ‘bout a tissue to blow your nose?” Heather shook her head ‘yes’ and then let go of her mother.

A heavy silence passed. Heather knew she wasn’t out of the woods just yet. “I feel better, Mommy.”

“I’m glad. But, you know that the way you acted was wrong. I wish you would’ve told me how you felt, Heather. That way, we could’ve talked about it before I came home. You have to promise me you’re going to be a good girl while Paul is here.”

Heather shook her head ‘yes’. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you promise to be a good girl?”

“Yes, I promise.” Though Heather promised, she still didn’t know if she would like Paul.

“What should you do the next time you feel sad or confused or upset about something?”

“I should talk to you about it but I’m not allowed to cry.”

“You’re right that you should come and talk to me. But you are allowed to cry. Crying can be good for you sometimes,” Linda explained. “It’s not good to bottle all your emotion up inside, Heather. It’s just like when you open a bottle of soda that’s been shaken. What happens?”

Heather snuggled Kitty in her arms. “The soda is messy and goes everywhere.”

“Right, it explodes and that’s not good. I’m always willing to listen; we can figure out whatever you’re sad about together and I’ll make you feel better. That’s what a Mommy does.”

Paul noticed how good of a mother Linda was. She wanted to teach her daughter right from wrong but never in a way that made Heather feel badly.

“You owe Paul an apology.”

From the living room, Paul’s ears burned. He heard Heather’s objections to an apology and Linda’s insistence that she did. He mentally noted that, for now, it was best to not call Linda ‘love’ in front of Heather.

Heather stood in front of Paul, embarrassed. She had Kitty in a stranglehold as Linda guided her through her apology.

Graciously, Paul thanked Heather for apologizing and accepted it. He continued, “I understand how you feel, Heather. Whenever my mum left to help deliver a baby, I always missed her, too. I thought that she wouldn’t come back home to take care of me brother and I…but she always did.” Paul paused, then asked again “who’ve you got there with you?”

“Kitty” Heather quietly replied. Kitty was safely snuggled in her arms.

“Is that your kitty cat you told me about on the phone?” he asked with excitement. Heather nodded her head ‘yes’. “Is Kitty a boy or a girl?”

As her right hand played with Kitty’s tail, she mentioned, in passing, that he was a boy. Paul took the transformation of her stranglehold on the stuffed animal into a gentle hug as a positive sign. “I can tell you love him loads. Did you name him?”

Heather shook her head ‘yes’ again, while looking down shyly. Linda felt a wave of relief and awe come over her as Heather talked with Paul. While it didn’t surprise her that Paul was able to hold a conversation with Heather, Linda couldn’t help but marvel at the situation that was occurring—not 10 minutes ago, Heather was worried that Paul was going to steal her mother away.

A wave of relief struck Paul, too—Heather was talking to him, at least. Cautiously, Paul got up and walked toward her. “Who gave Kitty to you?” he asked.

Heather smiled a small smile as she scratched Kitty’s white, furry tummy. “Mommy,” she warmly replied, louder than before. Paul gave Linda a smile, his hypothesis confirmed.

Heather began to stroke Kitty’s lower back. “How old is Kitty?” he asked. Heather shrugged her shoulders tightly.

“Two years old” interjected Linda, rescuing her daughter. “Heather really wanted a cat for her birthday...we couldn’t afford a real one, so I got her the next best thing.”

Paul liked that Linda’s creativity didn’t sacrifice her daughter’s happiness. Internally, he remarked at how Heather cared for Kitty as though he was alive. “Can I pet him?”

Heather paused to think as she scratched Kitty’s right side. She looked down, staring into the stuffed animal’s eyes, trying to read Kitty’s imaginary thoughts. Paul’s eyes met Heather’s as she quietly asked, “will you be nice?”

Upon Paul’s reassurance that he would, Heather shifted Kitty in her arms to face the stranger. Because Heather was still cradling Kitty toward his lower back, Paul petted him softly between his ears and scratched his chin. After he saw that Heather approved of his treatment of her “pet”, he began to scratch behind Kitty’s ears.

“Kitties love being scratched behind the ears.” Every cat he had met, at least, including Thisbe. Behind the ears was the sweet spot, it seemed; every time he did so, the cat would squint its eyes, smile and, often, purr. He leaned his right ear to the stuffed animal and listened closely. “I think I hear Kitty purring.”

Heather gasped—“how’d you know?”

“I heard him,” replied Paul, with a wink.

Heather smiled. The man who was petting Kitty was, very slowly, beginning to win her over.


	18. Chapter 18

As Paul scratched Kitty behind the ears some more, he remarked, “you’re one very lucky cat. You have a great owner.” Heather blushed and looked downward, embarrassed. “Thank you for letting me pet Kitty,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Heather said quietly. Her eyes looked everywhere except to the man with the funny accent, then to Linda when she said, “Mommy, I’m hungry.”

“Do you want a peanut butter sandwich? I just got some bread and peanut butter at the market.”

Heather smiled as she told her mother “yeah!”. Linda suggested they go to the kitchen to eat, telling Paul that she would make a sandwich for him, as well.

“Can I have mine with apples, Mommy?”

“Peanut butter and apples?” asked Paul.

Linda smiled. “Yeah, it’s popular here. I keep forgetting that you just tasted peanut butter for the first time.”

Heather looked up at her mother. “Why?” she asked.

“They don’t have it in England.”

“Why not? Peanut butter is really yummy.”

“I’m not sure, really,” she explained. “But I’ll make yours with apples.”

Paul seized on the opportunity to get back on Heather’s good side. “Your sandwich sounds very good. Could you make me one just like that?” Heather gave Paul a shy smile—maybe Paul really was a nice man.

Wanting to sit on the counter, Heather started jumping up. Linda stopped what she was doing and lifted her daughter onto the counter.

“Thank you,” said Heather.

“You’re welcome,” replied Linda, who continued to cut apple slices.

Heather sat on the countertop petting her best friend. Linda gave some apple slices to Paul and pushed some toward Heather.

“These apples are brilliant, Lin. I’ve never had ones that tasted this fresh.” Linda smiled, knowing that he was telling the truth—the apples in Britain left something to be desired.

“Good, huh?” she asked Heather. Heather shook her head ‘yes’.

“Could you hand me four slices of bread please?” Heather counted each slice of bread as she handed them to her mother.

“Have you ever had peanut butter and apple sandwiches before?” Paul asked Heather.

“Yeah. Mommy, can I have a banana, too?”

“We don’t have any bananas.”

“You eat ‘em with bananas, too?”

Heather kissed Kitty atop his head then shook her head ‘yes’. Intently, she watched her mother’s technique for spreading the peanut butter on each side of the bread.

“Does Kitty like them?”

“No,” she said. Paul couldn’t help but feel a bit dejected; though he knew Heather was shy, it was almost as if she didn’t even want to talk to him. He needed something else to win her over.

“Mommy, why are your sandwiches so good?” Heather asked.

“Because I got an ‘A’ in sandwich making in Mommy school.”

Heather cracked a little smile, telling her mother that it wasn’t true.

“It’s true!” insisted Linda. “Did you want to put the apples inside the sandwich?” Heather told her mother she did. Once the slices of apple were cut, she let Heather decorate one side of the bread.

“Mommy, I made a face!”

“I see that. Did you want to decorate your sandwich, Paul?” she teased.

Paul leaned against the flower wallpaper. “Let Heather do it,” he suggested. “She’s the professional sandwich maker.”

Heather eked out a smile, decorating Paul’s sandwich just like hers.

Linda asked Heather for another two slices of bread as she cut a second apple.

“You didn’t cut mine!” Heather interjected.

Linda promised she would cut it after she made her sandwich.

Distracted, Heather handed her two more slices of bread. When Linda was finished, she cut each sandwich on the diagonal—once for hers, twice for Heather and Paul’s. Heather, who was finishing her apple slices, was more concerned about eating with Paul.

After Linda got the napkins, took out the glasses and poured the milk (and a cup of tea for Paul), they all sat down to eat in the living room. Paul and Linda sat on the love sat with their plates placed in their laps. Heather sat on the floor, using the small square coffee table for her plate and glass of milk. It worked to her advantage, as it was perfect for her height. 

 

Heather had finished the rest of her apple slices, leaving only her sandwich’s crusts on the plate. She sat in her mother’s lap, listening to her and Paul talk about adult things in which she had no interest. However, she could tell that her Mommy really liked Paul. Something was different about him. Mommy seemed really happy that he was there—he smiled at her a lot and even and held her hand. When they giggled at each other during lunch, it didn’t smell funny.

Over lunch, Heather was so quiet that, at times, Paul forgot she was there. Other times, he knew she was there, but only because she kept asking Linda to play with her. When he tried to include her in the conversation, she was polite but terse. Even though Paul had complimented her on the delicious sandwich she made for him, he could tell that she was still wary. For right now, he was still ‘the man who took Mommy away for a long time’.

During a lull in their conversation, Linda saw that most of Heather’s tall glass of milk still remained. “Heather, drink your milk,” she requested.

“I don’t want to,” she whined. “Kitty will drink it,” she said as she lifted her cat from her lap to the glass. Heather was tired of not getting her way—she wanted her mother’s attention.

“Heather, I poured the milk for you. You promised you’d be a good girl, remember?” She reminded her daughter, “milk is expensive and I don’t want it going to waste. If you don’t drink it, you’re going to sit in your room.”

Heather pouted and crossed her arms with Kitty safely tucked at her left, picking at the crusts with her right hand.

Paul studied Linda and Heather’s interactions. Linda was a tough but fair mother. He picked up his teacup, only to realize that it was empty. “Lin, could y—” he started to say. At first, Paul was going to ask for some more tea, but then changed his mind, asking Linda for a glass of milk instead.

When she came back from the kitchen, she saw Heather slowly munching on her crusts. Linda could tell that she needed some encouragement. “Look!—you’re almost done eating. But you still have to finish your milk.” She then asked Paul if he would like cookies with his milk.

“If I finish more, can I have some cookies with my milk?” Heather asked.

Linda, surprised at Heather’s adept bargaining skills, agreed; if Heather finished her crusts, she would get cookies to have with her milk.

“Cookies and milk is good but I’ve always preferred tea and biscuits.”

Heather was confused yet excited—finally a conversation in which she could participate! “Like the biscuits you eat with fried chicken?” she asked her mother.

“’Cookies’ are called ’biscuits’ in England,” she explained.

Heather was now more confused. “So what do they call a real biscuit in England?”

“You mean the kind that you eat with chicken?” Linda asked Heather for clarification. Heather nodded her head. Now Linda was the one who was stumped. Kitty received a thoughtful snuggle while Heather patiently waited for her mother to explain.

After a brief pause, Linda carefully replied, “I suppose the closest thing to a biscuit that you would eat with chicken in England is a scone…sort of.”

“Your mum is right—‘cookies’ are called ‘biscuits’ in England,” Paul reiterated. “So, if, after dinner, someone asked you if you would like ‘tea and biscuits’, they’d mean ‘tea and cookies’.”

Hearing about cookies made Heather forget the British-American biscuit definition dilemma. She wanted to hear more about tea and biscuits. “What’s it like?” she asked her mother.

“I like it. What about you, Paul?”

“Tea and biscuits? It’s fab”. Paul caught himself and continued “…ulous”.

Linda chuckled to herself—under it all, the man in her apartment was still a Beatle at heart.

“Me mum, dad, brother and I used to have it after every Sunday dinner,” he continued. “Mum‘d make a pot of tea and we all sit and chat while we ate our Digestives.”

Heather made a face in disgust. “Ew, gross,” she remarked bluntly.

Paul chuckled, conceding that their name was not the most appetizing. He explained that the cookies were called ‘digestives’ because they were thought to help with digestion after a meal. “Do you always eat cookies and milk after a meal?” Heather shaking her head ‘no’ reminded Paul to ask her questions that did not require a monosyllabic response. “What’s it like, then?”

“It’s yummy,” Heather smiled. Paul and Heather soon found common ground in discussing their favorite cookies. When he asked Heather her favorites, she replied “Chocolate chip and Oreos. Mommy, can I have Oreos?”

“What’re ‘Oreos’?” Paul asked.

“Chocolate sandwich cookies with cream in the middle,” Linda answered, ignoring her daughter’s question.

“Mommy, Mommy, can I have Oreos? Please please?”

“Mmmm, those sound good,” commented Paul.

“Would you like to try one, Paul?”

“I want one, too!” Heather exclaimed.

Linda looked at her daughter’s sandwich, which was almost gone. “Finish your crusts and then you can have some cookies with your milk,” she reasoned. Heather whined.

“I’ll wait for Heather to finish,” Paul explained to Linda. “She can teach me how to eat cookies and milk proper.” Immediately, Heather began to eat.

 

After she finished her lunch, Linda poured both Paul and her daughter a tall glass of milk. She served them three cookies each, joining Kitty in watching.

“Mommy, why does Paul sound like Eric Clapping?”

“Eric Clapping?” Linda wondered aloud. “Oh! Eric _Clapton_. Why don’t you ask Paul yourself?” Heather shook her head ‘no’.

Paul decided to answer her question anyway. “It’s because I’m from an island called England.”

Heather turned to her mother to ask, “does everyone in England talk the same?”

Linda looked at Paul, telling him with her facial expression to answer Heather’s question. The more she talked with Paul, the sooner she would come out of her shell. “No, it’s just like America,” he answered. “Have you ever heard someone from the south speak? Or someone who has a thick New York accent? Or even Boston?”

Heather shrugged her shoulders.

“Like when we go to Brooklyn sometimes, Heather,” Linda interjected. “It’s where the Brooklyn bridge goes to.” In a Brooklyn accent, she added “and everyone tawlks lyke this.”

Linda’s impression made both Paul and Heather smile. Paul continued with his explanation, “they sound differently than you do. That’s what an accent is. Everyone has them.”

“But I don’t sound like them,” Heather told Paul.

“That’s why you think they have an accent. You notice their accent because you don’t pronounce words the same way that they do. And that’s why you notice mine. Not all people in America pronounce words the same way. Neither do people in England.”

“Oh,” said Heather.

“What do you say, Heather?” prompted Linda.

“Thank you.”

Paul smiled back at her. “You’re welcome. So, how do we begin?” Paul asked, intrigued. His teacher, meanwhile, was too excited by the milk and cookies to bother with teaching. Paul watched as Heather dunked her cookie in milk, shoving as much of the milk-logged cookie into her mouth as she could.

“Heather,” Linda interjected. She gently put her right hand on Heather’s left as she reminded her that Paul wanted to learn (and to take smaller bites).

“You just dunk the cookie in the milk and then eat it,” Heather replied simply.

“But Paul doesn’t know that.”

Heather was puzzled. “Why not?”

“Remember what Paul said? In England, they don’t have Oreos. That’s why Paul’s never eaten them.”

Dissatisfied with her response, Heather inquired about why. Paul practically disappeared as Linda focused on Heather to explain. Throughout the conversation, Paul watched intently. He was fascinated by Linda and Heather’s interactions. Linda effortlessly gave Heather explanations in easily digestible nuggets. She never treated Heather as an inferior and, most importantly, Linda never lost her patience during the explanation. Instead, she chose to continue to help her daughter understand. In this instance, however, Linda was having trouble giving an explanation about the differences between countries that Heather found satisfactory. Every explanation seemed to lead to more questions. Paul decided to lend a hand.

“I’m not sure why we don’t have Oreos in England, Heather. We have lots of biscuits over there but not anything like an Oreo. It looks quite delicious, though. I can’t wait to try it!”

Unsure of what to say, Heather drew Kitty close. Maybe he could help her—he was a smart cat and a reliable friend.

“Should I try one?” Paul playfully asked.

“You have to learn how to eat them first,” interjected Linda.

Paul furrowed his brow. “What’s there to learn?”

“Heather’ll show you. She has her own technique.” In an act of good faith, Linda gave both Paul and Heather another cookie each. “There, now you’re starting from scratch. Are you going to teach Paul all the ways he can eat Oreos? Dunking them in milk, twisting them apart and…”

“No, Mommy, shhhhhh! You’ll give it away. Shhhh!”

Linda grinned, as she could tell how excited she was to show someone the many ways to eat her favorite cookie. “Can you show him how?”

Heather consulted with her best friend before she gave her mother an answer. After she shook Kitty’s head ‘yes’, she quietly agreed to, but only on the condition that her mother stay to watch. Linda reassured her that she would. “Go ahead, Heather,” she encouraged.

“I’m ready to begin, teacher Heather,” said Paul.

Heather couldn’t help but smile at Paul’s comment. She demonstrated the art of dunking a cookie in milk to Paul, telling him that he had to submerge the cookie until he saw bubbles. Linda watched as Paul pretended that he didn’t know what he was doing to get Heather to laugh.

When Paul bit into the milk-logged cookie, he tasted an amazing combination of chocolate, cream and milk. He enjoyed it so much that he asked Heather if they could dunk another cookie the same way. Of course, she obliged.

Heather pounced on her third cookie. She instructed her student to take his cookie and twist it in half and lick the cream on the inside. A diligent student, Paul did as he was instructed.

“Stop licking. Put the cookie back together,” Heather said as she re-sandwiched her Oreo. “Then you dunk it in the milk and eat it.” Heather ate the dunked cookie and licked her fingers when she was done. Paul took a swig of milk to wash the cookie down.

“So, teacher, how are we going to eat that last cookie then?”

“Eat all around the cookie.”

“You mean _everything_ around the cookie? Tables? Chairs? You?”

Heather laughed. “That’s not what I meant!” she smiled.

Paul breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, good! ‘Cause I really didn’t want to eat any of those things. Your mum wouldn’t’ve been pleased,” Paul deadpanned.

Heather giggled again. “I mean like this.” She demonstrated how she ate only the chocolate cookie rim of the Oreo, leaving the cream in the center untouched. After finishing that task, she told Paul to dunk his cookie in the milk.

“Do you always dunk your cookies in milk?” Paul asked as he took another swig of milk.

“Mm-hmm,” Heather replied as she finished the last bit of her Oreo.

Linda noticed that Heather’s milk glass was still very full. Paul did, too. “What about the rest of that milk, hmm?”

“I have to drink it,” said Heather, disappointedly.

“Have you ever had a milk race before?” Paul asked.

“What’s that?”

“A competition to see who can finish their glass of milk first.” Heather’s ears perked, so Paul continued. “My brother, Mike, and I would do it all the time when we were growing up. Mum had us drink lots of milk. We made it more fun by making a competition out of it. Even though he was younger, he’d always win,” he explained. “My glass isn’t as full as yours, so we’ve got to make them even. Drink the milk in your glass but stop when our glasses have the same amount of milk in them.” Heather carefully drank her milk until both her and Paul’s glasses were two-thirds full.

“Very good! Alright. Now it’s time for the race. We’ll take turns taking sips of milk. Whoever finishes their milk first wins! I’ll even give you a five sip head start.”

After Heather took five large sips of her milk, Paul officially started the race. He let Heather go first. Sip by sip, the milk disappeared from their glasses. Most of it made their way to their stomachs, though some stayed on each of their upper lips. Paul could have easily beat Heather in seven large gulps. Instead, he chose to keep the race even, letting Heather win in the end.

“Brilliant!” Paul encouraged.

“Very good, Heather!” cheered Linda. Looking at them both, she began to chuckle.

“Where’s Mommy going?” she asked Paul. Toward the end of her sentence, she started to giggle.

“What’s giving you the giggles?” he asked with a laugh.

Heather continued to giggle.

“You have a milk mustache. It’s very becoming on you, Paul,” Linda quipped as she returned to the living room. Paul would look good in anything, though—he was “the cute one”.

Linda snapped a few pictures of Heather and Paul. Paul was not entirely focused on the camera when there was such a beautiful subject behind it. He watched her long, slender fingers hold and expertly fiddle with the camera. Linda always had a confidence about her, but when she was with the camera, she knew exactly what she wanted.

When she had gotten all of her shots, Linda’s motherly instinct returned—she picked up a napkin to wipe Heather’s mouth. Paul’s fascination did not wane.

“Lin,” he asked, “how do you do that? How do you find the pictures?”

“I just…I find the picture I want in the lens and I look for…I just take it.” She struggled to explain something that came so easily to her—if she looked into the lens and liked what she saw, she took the picture. “I look in the lens and…I don’t like to crop pictures so I take the picture I want.” Linda sighed. “I know that’s not really the explanation you want. I can’t really explain it, to be honest. It’s second nature, I guess.”

Paul laughed to himself—he felt like he was listening to himself when people asked him how he wrote songs or when John asked him how he knew how to play with kids. “When people ask me how I write songs, I can’t explain it either. It just happens, you know?”

“Yeah, I do,” Linda replied through a half-daydream. Paul had made up a dirty song or two about Linda during their “dirty weekend” that he sung to her sometimes when he was in the mood; it was his version of foreplay. They gave each other a knowing smile. “Would you like some more tea, Paul?”

“No thanks, Lin. I’m gonna to go out for a smoke.” Instinctively, Paul leaned in to kiss Linda. He then touched her hand just long enough to feel its warmth before going outside into the cold.


	19. Chapter 19

Heather took Paul’s place next to Linda on the love seat. “Hi Mommy,” she said, wanting to keep her mother’s company.

“Hi Heather. Did you enjoy your sandwich, cookies and milk?”

Heather began to use her mother as a leaning post. “Yes,” she responded with Kitty in her arms.

“Good,” she said as she fiddled with her mug. “Heather, do you know why Paul went outside?”

Heather shook her head ‘no’.

“Because he was going to smoke. And instead of doing it inside, he went outside to be polite.”

“Oh, that was nice” she said. “Mommy, will you play with me?”

“Not now, Heather. I have to clear the dishes. You can help me by carrying in your glass very carefully.” Heather whined. “If you be a good girl and help me take the dishes to the kitchen, I’ll play with you after I finish,” reasoned Linda.

After Paul came back inside, the dishes had been cleared. From the door, he could hear the water from the kitchen faucet. As he made his way to the white doorframe he saw that Linda was standing at the sink. She was answering Heather’s questions about her time in England while cleaning the dishes, silverware and cutting board by hand. A talkative Heather sat on the counter near her mother, having missed her company. Upon seeing Paul, she shriveled like a raisin and stopped mid-sentence. Heather pulled Kitty close, gently petting his faux fur.

“What’s wrong, Heather?”

Paul seized the lull in the conversation to say, in his lilting Liverpool accent “hello, Ms. Eastman.” With the same friendly smile he gave her the first time he said “hello Heather.”

As soon as Linda heard Paul’s voice, she knew why Heather became a shrinking violet. Linda wished that she could rush Heather into liking Paul but knew that wasn’t possible; she would have to decide for herself. “Hi Paul,” she said, looking over her shoulder. Placing another clean dish in the dish rack, she asked “is it still cold outside?”

“It’s cold for New York at this time of year. It’d be cold for England, too. I suppose I brought the wintery British weather all the way across the pond.”

“Oh, that was you?” Linda said with mock surprise.

“Nah, it was some other bloke,” he smirked.

Linda sarcastically agreed, telling Paul that it was a nice change of pace. She began to dry the dishes and glasses so she could put them away in the cupboard. Paul grabbed a towel and helped, too.

Heather waited for Paul and her mother to finish. After placing the last dish in the cupboard, Paul whispered something in her mother’s ear. Whatever it was that he said, her Mommy nodded her head ‘yes’ and smiled.

“Heather, I brought you a surprise from England. Would you like to see it?”

Heather gave a shy smile, trying to keep it to herself—she loved surprises! Paul took her reaction as a yes and told her to “come ‘ead”. Heather and Kitty sat on the love seat in Linda’s lap. As soon as Heather sat down, Linda groaned. “You grew a lot while I was gone. You’re getting so big, Heather!” Heather looked a little disappointed.

Paul presented Heather with the blue bag with glittery white tissue paper inside.

“Mommy, it’s so sparkly!” Heather exclaimed as she examined the tissue paper.

Paul chuckled, adding “I’m glad you like the tissue paper but your prezzie’s inside.”

“What’s a ‘prezzie’?” she asked her mother.

“It’s short for ‘present’,” Linda explained. “Open it,” she encouraged as she patted Heather’s back.

Excited and nervous, Paul couldn’t wait to see Heather’s reaction.

Heather looked back at her mother, unsure of how to open the present without ripping the tissue paper. As Heather said, “Mommy, I don’t want to rip it. It’s pretty”, Paul smiled to himself; little girls’ fascination with sparkly packaging was not only limited to England. Heather would have been probably just as happy if he had only given her the packaging. Paul’s step-sister, Ruth, felt the same when he gave her a doll last Christmas.

“I’ll help,” said Linda as she helped Heather peel back the tissue paper. Heather carefully pulled out a book with a teddy bear in a red hat and dark blue jacket on the cover. She showed the book to her mother as she stated with excitement, “it’s a book about a teddy bear!”

“It is!” Out of the corner of her eye, Linda saw that there was something else in the bag. She encouraged Heather to “look in the bag to see if there’s anything else in there.”

Heather peered inside the bag again. Inside, she found a teddy bear. She beamed as she realized that the teddy bear in the bag was dressed in the same outfit as the one on the cover of the book. “Mommy, it’s a teddy bear!”

Paul couldn’t be more pleased that Heather loved her prezzie. “His name is Paddington Bear. He’s quite popular with children your age in England. You can cuddle with him while you and your mum read about his adventures in the book.”

Linda whispered in her daughter’s ear, reminding her to say ‘thank you’. Heather enthusiastically obliged.

“You’re welcome. Do you think he’ll get along with Kitty?”

Heather decided to find out. She moved Kitty closer to her and introduced Paddington. “Kitty, this is Paddington,” she explained. “He’s from England. He’s…” Heather continued, unsure. She turned to Paul and asked, “is Paddington nice?”

“Oh yes, he’s very nice and very polite. He’s originally from somewhere called ‘Darkest Peru’, a country in South America, which is a long, long way from New York.”

Taking stock of the information Paul told her, she repeated it to Kitty. Upon receiving Kitty’s response, she had Paddington give Kitty a hug. She told Paul “they’re friends now.”

“Brilliant,” Paul replied.

Upon closer examination of the bear, Heather noticed a tag pinned on Paddington’s coat. “Mommy, what does this say?” she asked as she pointed to the tag.

“Well,” Linda said, “you’re learning how to read. How ‘bout you give it a try?”

“No,” Heather refused, wanting, instead, to be babied.

“Come on, just try,” Linda coaxed. “Take it one word at a time.”

Paul listened intently to Heather sounding out each word as Linda held her in her lap. Heather thoughtfully considered each word before she started to sound it out. When Heather read a word correctly, Linda praised her. If Heather misspoke, which did not happen often, Linda reminded her of the pronunciation. She then had Heather repeat the word while pointing to it. Though vigilant, Linda was as patient as she was when explaining the difference between cookies and biscuits earlier. When Heather came to the last word, Linda had Heather reread the phrase. As she pointed to each word, Heather confidently read, “please look after this bear. Thank you.”

“Excellent!” Linda smiled. “Do you think you can do that?”

After Heather told Linda she could, she hugged her from behind, gave her a kiss on the cheek. Paul could see how proud Linda was. This was one of those moments that parents mentioned when they marveled at how incredible it was to watch a child grow. He wanted that feeling, too.

“Great job, Heather! You’ll be able to read thousand page books in no time,” complimented Paul.

Heather blushed a little and thanked Paul—she forgot he was listening. Paul made a mental note that less was more with complimenting Heather; otherwise, she would be embarrassed.

Awkward silence fell as Linda held Heather in her lap. Linda asked Paul if he would like another cup of tea. Paul politely declined. The uneasy silence continued but Heather quickly broke it.

“Mommy, will you play with me?” Heather asked again.

“Ok. But you have to make sure that Paul can play, too. We don’t want him to feel left out.”

Heather’s excitement faded—she wanted it to be just her and Mommy again. She really missed her, desperately wanting to spend time alone with her. Wary, she gave her mother another hug.

While Heather thought, Paul had an idea. “Would you like to see what’s in that case, Heather?” he asked, pointing to his guitar case. Linda smiled, knowing Heather would agree.

“What is it?”

A smile crept up on Paul’s face. “I’ll show you. Come ‘ead,” he said.

Heather gasped, eagerly studying Paul as he removed his acoustic guitar from his case. This time, she didn’t try to hide her smile. The Beatle fan in Linda wondered how many songs had been recorded with it. Though Heather was unaware, years later, she would realize that millions of girls would have done practically anything to experience, for a brief moment, what her daughter was about to experience for the rest of the afternoon.


	20. Chapter 20

As Paul strummed and tuned his guitar, he saw Heather and Kitty watching him intently. He gave her his genuine smile, not the one he used for the press. When Heather saw what was in the case, she could hardly contain a smile, let alone a grin. She felt excitement and comfort upon seeing the same instrument Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix played for her when they babysat. It eroded her nervousness to see Paul do something so familiar (as did Paul).

“Would you like to strum it? Go ahead, have a go, then!”

Heather strummed down the strings with her right hand once. Then again. And again. And again. She adored the sound of his acoustic guitar, which lightly echoed around the living room.

Paul relished Heather’s sheer joy for something as simple as strumming a guitar. He experienced that feeling for the first time when he was a few years older than her.

“It hurts my fingers,” she said.

“The same thing happened to me when I started. But now it’s much easier because the skin on the tips of me fingers is thicker. Here, try using this,” Paul said as he handed her a guitar pick.

“What is it?”

“It’s a guitar pick. It makes strumming a lot easier. What you just did was called strumming.”

Heather hesitated. “Can I try strumming with it?” she asked.

“Have at it,” replied Paul with certainty. Heather strummed the strings up and down haphazardly with her right hand and held Kitty under her left arm. As she did so, a smile formed.

“If you strum in a pattern, that’s called a rhythm.” Paul strummed a basic rhythm on the open guitar strings as an example as Heather sat back and watched. He then gave her a chance to strum while he held down the chords on the fretboard. “You can also make rhythms by plucking the strings. Just like this,” Paul said as he demonstrated plucking each open guitar string with the pick. When Paul motioned for Heather to move closer, she did the same.

“Each string on the guitar makes one note. And if you hold down the string in different places here, you get different notes.” He then played notes toward the higher and lower ends of the fretboard to demonstrate. “Hear that? Those are all different notes,” he excitedly explained.

Before Paul could finish his explanation, she had her guitar pick ready. “I’ll hold down the string on the fretboard and you pluck the strings,” he told her.

Heather heard the different notes she was playing as she plucked the strings. She noticed that it was easier to pluck the strings with the guitar pick.

“You can also pluck the guitar strings with your fingers.”

Heather reached to pluck some of the strings with her index finger. “I like it more with the pick,” she decided.

“I like both, but it takes practice,” he said. “Notes don’t have to just be all alone, y’know. They can get a little lonely. You can combine notes to form chords.” Paul strummed some basic chords for Heather. “And, if you combine chords and rhythms, you can make a song!” With that, he immediately broke into the first verse of “Here We Go ‘Round The Mulberry Bush”.

Heather was enthralled as she watched Paul play. “We sang that at school sometimes! How’d you know that?” she asked at the end of the song.

“Magic,” he winked. “Actually, it’s quite a common song for young children to sing in England. I remember singing it when I was younger. In fact,” Paul paused, “that was all the way back in 1776!”

“No it wasn’t!” she protested through giggles.

“Oh, alright, you got me—it was in 1676.”

Heather continued to giggle as she shook her head ‘no’.

Linda could see how much Paul delighted in sharing music with Heather. She hadn’t seen him this happy since her first night in London. Perhaps being away from the pressures of being a Beatle was making him happier. He certainly got Heather to come out of her shell.

“Would you like to hear another song, then?” Paul looked around the room, then focused on Heather again, saying “Ah, yes, the darling young girl in the front who has the gigges. What would you like to hear?”

Heather giggled again—Paul was a very funny man. “A song!” she cheerily shouted.

“A song it is then.” Paul played and sang “Pop! Goes The Weasel” for Heather. As he began to sing, Heather’s smile faded into a look of confusion.

“Something wrong?”

“Those aren’t the right words,” she said.

“Back in school, those were the ones that I learned. How ‘bout you sing your version while I play?”

Heather shook her head ‘no’.

“Please?” Paul coaxed. “I’m sure you have a lovely voice, Heather.”

She shook her head ‘no’ again while scratching Kitty under his chin.

Paul slowly exhaled. While Heather was not nearly as shy as she was a when they first met, he could see that she still had reservations. “Alright,” he replied. “How ‘bout another song?” His decision to sing a silly song to Heather to get her to smile worked.

Much as he enjoyed entertaining Heather, Paul didn’t want to forget about Linda. He leaned a bit closer to Heather but was careful to give her enough space. “Do you think we should ask your mum if she wants to hear a song?” he whispered loudly.

“Yeah!” she whispered with enthusiasm.

“How ‘bout you ask her what song she’d like to hear.”

Heather moved closer to Linda and told her “Mommy, Paul wants to play you a song.”

“He does?” she said excitedly to Heather. Linda always fell for a man who could play a song. It seemed as though musicians all knew it was their proverbial ace-in-the-hole. It did not matter if the songs were not her favorite; what mattered was that they were for her. Linda looked up at Paul and gave him an impish grin. “What should we have him play?” she asked, looking back at Heather.

“I don’t know, Mommy. Paul wants you to pick a song.”

“How about A Whiter Shade of Pale?” she quickly replied.

“What’s that?” Heather asked.

“It’s the name of a song by a band called Procul Harum,” she explained as she glanced at Paul.

Paul smiled fondly at Linda—that was the song they heard on their first date a more than a year ago. It had become theirs. The song was certainly unique. How fitting it was that he heard such a unique song on the night he met such a magnificently fascinating woman. “Do you have an organ I could play, love?” he joked.

‘You have one that’s fun to play with,’ thought Linda. She then responded, “It’s in the kitchen. Let me go get it,” she said playfully.

Linda’s response interrupted Paul, who was already trying to figure out how he could play the song on an acoustic guitar. “It’s alright,” she reassured him as Heather leaned against her on the love seat. “You can play something easier.”

Paul knew what he was going to play, but needed to remember the chords; it had been so long since he played it last.

As soon as Paul played the opening riff, Linda knew what song it was. She vividly remembered the first time she watched him play it on the Ed Sullivan Show.

“Mommy, it’s the song from ‘The Music Man’!”

Linda shook her head ‘yes’, then made a ‘shh’ motion.

 

Later in the afternoon, Paul needed a cigarette. While he was gone, Linda put the kettle on, then started coloring with Heather. She was struggling to stay awake so Linda tucked her into bed for a nap. When Paul came back, he and Linda shared a joint and drank their tea. They continued to color and eat peanut butter sandwiches. Paul asked if he could have some crayons to draw. Linda gave him a piece of paper, on which he drew funny little doodles.

Linda looked at the clock, realizing that Heather would be hungry when she awoke. She could hear the wind rattling the windows and the faint rain. Linda didn’t much feel like making anything for dinner. She knew that Paul wouldn’t mind what they ate but she had to make something for Heather. Linda settled on spaghetti with meat sauce. She began getting out a pot, pan and a knife. Paul insisted, through yawns, that they order some ‘takeaway’. Paul was very pleased that Linda suggested pizza from Mimi’s. What people said was true—New York pizza was the best…well, besides the pizza in Italy.

Linda ordered two pies from a place down the street—a large Italian special for her and Paul and a small cheese pizza for Heather.

After dinner, Heather and Kitty sat next to Paul and Paddington on the love seat.

“How’s Kitty?”

“Good,” she said as she gave him a hug. Heather then began to play with Paddington.

With Heather sitting next to Paul and Paddington, Linda had nowhere to sit. “If you get up, you can sit on my lap,” she said. Heather jumped up from her seat, then asked Mommy for a kiss and a hug. Linda obliged, worrying at how much she had to reassure her daughter today.

Paul was, too—the time he spent with Linda flew. He enjoyed the time he spent with Heather as well, particularly when he played guitar for her. She was quiet and shy but very sweet when she came out of her shell. If Heather didn’t accept the change, he knew that it would make his relationship with Linda impossible.

Linda looked at the clock—it was well past Heather’s bedtime, but tonight was a special exception. She could use a nap as well. With the range of emotions Heather experienced, maybe her tiredness was making her clingy. Linda could tell that, at this point in the day, all Heather wanted to do was be in her mother’s lap. “Do you want to just sit on my lap for a while?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Heather whispered. She was beginning to feel left out. If she couldn’t spend any time alone with Mommy, at least she could still sit near her. 

“Ok,” she replied, kissing Heather’s blonde hair. Linda shifted Heather in her lap to help her get comfortable, then started a conversation with Paul. Heather would have to get used to not getting all the attention.

Heather felt the comfort of her mother rubbing her back and Kitty’s fake fur against her left arm. She heard Paul and her mother talking about the city, then the subway and taxis (along with the occasional click of Linda's camera). Soon after, she stopped following the conversation, as she had fallen asleep in the most ideal of places—her mother’s lap.


	21. Chapter 21

While she and Paul were talking, Linda realized that Heather had fallen asleep in her lap. As Heather got older, she treasured the increasingly infrequent times that this situation occurred. Listen to Heather breathe as she slept was a significant comfort; when Heather was a baby, her breathing was so quiet that there were times Linda had to hold a mirror to her nose. To this day, when Linda heard Heather breathing while she slept, it reassured her that her daughter was alright.

Paul saw that Heather had fallen asleep. He could tell Linda was concentrating but, on what, he did not know. “Lin?” he whispered. His call fell on deaf ears. He whispered his pet name for her again, causing Linda to gasp and immediately turn toward Paul. “You alright, love?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said with uncertainty. “Yeah, I was just…Heather is a heavy sleeper and a shallow breather. She doesn’t move much in her sleep, either. When she was a baby, I had to hold a mirror to her nose to make sure she was still alive. So, whenever I hear her breathing while she sleeps, it’s reassuring.”

Though Paul found that comment odd, he knew that parents worried about their children. “She looks so peaceful,” he commented quietly with heavy eyes and a long yawn. Linda agreed.

“You want me to carry her to her bed?”

Linda paused in thought, then let out an exasperated sigh. She wished that she could be Heather right now, sound asleep. “I’m going to have to wake her up. She needs to change into her pajamas and brush her teeth.” Paul could see the reluctance on Linda’s face.

Linda watched Heather sleep for a few more seconds, watching her chest compress and expand. She then began waking Heather from her slumber. As she expected, Heather was cranky.

“Mommy, I’m tired,” she whined.

“I didn’t want to wake you but you have to change into your pajamas and brush your teeth. Then you can go back to bed.” Heather whined again. “Come on, the sooner you get into your pajamas and brush your teeth, the sooner you can go back to bed.”

She eased Heather off her lap, then told her to go brush her teeth while Linda got her pajamas. Dazed, Heather did as she was told.

Linda arose from the couch with sore knees. “I’ll be back soon,” she said to Paul, who nodded his head.

After helping her change, she quickly shut out the lights and walked Heather back to her “bedroom” to tuck her in.

“There you are,” said Linda as she finished tucking Heather into bed. “I even brought you Kitty and Paddington.”

“Thank you,” replied Heather. Kitty received a snuggle and went to his usual place in Heather’s arms under the sheets. Paddington was placed behind Heather.

“Why don’t you put Paddington under the covers? He’s going to be cold just sitting on top of them. You promised to take good care of him just like his tag said, remember?”

Heather obliged, then, asked “Mommy, will you read me a story?”

Though Linda normally would have said ‘no’, as it was past Heather’s bedtime, today was a special exception. The last time she read her a story was before she left. “Which one?”

“Corduroy!” Heather exclaimed.

“Not Paddington?” Linda asked, hoping to convince Heather otherwise.

“Corduroy,” Heather repeated. “It’s my favorite, Mommy.”

Linda pulled out the well-worn book and sat next to Heather on the bed. Heather listened intently to the story of how the imperfect teddy bear became the best friend of a little girl who loved him regardless. Before Linda turned the pages, Heather liked to study the illustrations she had seen countless times beforehand. At the end, she always pointed out to her Mommy the button that Corduroy finally had sewn onto his overalls.

Heather snuggled with, kissed or pet Kitty many times through out the story; it made Heather thankful that she had a best friend just like the little girl in the story.

“Lisa loves Corduroy and he doesn’t have a button,” Heather remarked.

“Mmm-hmm,” said Linda. “She saw right through his imperfections and loved him for who he was.” Linda could only hope that Heather would do the same with Paul.

Tired, Heather lay down, maneuvering her legs around her Mommy’s body. Linda took that as a cue to sit on the floor.

Heather sighed. Hearing the pitter pat of the rain against the windows, she observed, “it’s still raining.”

“Well, it’s been cloudy for all of today, at least when I was here. I hear it raining outside, now, though,” she replied. Knowing that Heather was not fond of storms, she asked if she wanted her to stay with her until she fell asleep.

“Yeah,” Heather said.

Linda leaned over and gave Heather a kiss on her left cheek. “I love you,” she whispered in her ear.

Heather looked back at her mother and said, “I love you, too.” She hesitated, then partially sat up to ask “are you gonna stay here tonight?”

“Of course—where else would I go?”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Linda could hear the twinge of worry in her daughter’s voice.

“I’m staying in the apartment for the rest of the night. I promise.”

“I wanna play with you, Mommy.”

“Now?” Linda asked. “It’s time for bed.”

“No, just you and me. I missed playing with you.”

She paused, then promised Heather she would spend some time playing with her alone. Satisfied with her response, Heather settled back into the mattress. Linda tucked her in again, knowing that, within minutes, she would be asleep.

 

Linda sat in the quiet, dark living room with her slumbering daughter at her side. Listening closely, she could hear Heather’s docile breaths. A closed-mouthed smile crept up Linda’s lips. Linda felt at peace, wishing that moments like this came more often. The room’s ambiance made her believe that it almost didn’t matter if things didn’t work out with Paul…almost.

Linda stayed in the room until the peace overwhelmed her. She murmured “sweet dreams, Heather. Sleep tight. I love you.” Giving Heather a sincere kiss on the cheek, she brushed away stray strands of golden hair that had fallen on her face. Linda readjusted the covers so Heather would keep warm. Before she left the room, she looked back at her daughter. Inexplicably, a sense of motherly pride filled her.

Paul could see how content Linda was as he stood there. Linda walked toward Paul, who met her halfway. “Is Heather asleep?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Linda nodded. Tiredly, she stumbled over her apology. “Sorry about earlier when Heather was…”

“Upset?” Paul asked as he finished her sentence. He explained that he had taken care of his upset cousins many times when he was younger. Though she knew what he meant, Linda gave Paul a doubtful look in jest.

“Oh, I see—they were upset because they had to be with you,” she joshed.

Paul played along. “Yeah, just the sight of me would make ‘em cry.”

Linda yawned. “Good practice for making millions of girls all around the world cry years later.”

“Oh, yes,” Paul sarcastically agreed. “And now I’m standing here with one of those girls.” Paul had a knack for turning the conversation to romance on a dime.

“No, I cried for John,” Linda rebuffed. She didn’t have the heart to tell Paul that she was only half joking.

“Never for me?” Paul said cheekily, leaning close to Linda.

As Linda felt Paul’s breath in her right ear, her heart skipped a beat. But Linda was fading fast. “Paul, I’m pretty tired so I’m going to go to bed.”

“But you haven’t gotten your pressie yet.” Paul handed her the same brand of lavender bath salts and lavender soap that he gave her when she first arrived in England. Giving each other a knowing smile, Linda unlocked the door and drew the bath water.

 

Thunder crashed outside the bedroom window, awaking Linda with a frightening startle. It was the loudest she had ever heard. Paul stumbled out of his slumber a few seconds later. “Was that thunder or a car crash?” he asked.

“Thunder. Let me check on Heather—she gets scared during storms,” she told Paul. There was no need for her to leave the bedroom, as Heather came running.

“You’re ok, you’re safe,” she assured her daughter as she sobbed in the safety of her mother’s arms. Linda could feel the dampness of Heather’s tears pool on her pajamas’ right shoulder.

The earsplitting crash of thunder frightened Heather upon her rude awakening. She was too shaken to care that she was crying in front of Paul.

Paul felt badly for Heather as he watched her cling to her mother for comfort. He wanted to tell her that a bookcase in heaven fell over, which is what his mum told him when he was young. He knew it wasn’t his place—he wasn’t her father…though he hoped that would soon change.

In her motherly voice, Linda instructed Heather to take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds and then slowly exhale. Linda repeated these instructions until Heather’s crying calmed to an occasional outburst. “Do you feel better?” she asked her daughter, who was still tightly embraced in her mother’s arms. Heather nodded her head ‘yes’ against her mother’s shoulder. “Good,” Linda whispered. She then leaned back so she could talk to Heather face-to-face. “That was a loud crash of thunder. Even I got scared,” she reassured her daughter.

“Nuh-uh,” Heather disagreed.

“I did,” Linda replied honestly; hugging and calming Heather comforted Linda, too. “I’ve never heard one so loud. But don’t worry, Heather-bear—you’re safe inside the apartment.”

Heather looked doubtful. Linda told her something silly to get her to smile. “You know that when thunder happens, it means people up in the sky are bowling. Thunder crashed because someone just bowled a strike!” Upon hearing this, Paul smiled to himself.

Tried as she could to hide it, a smile started to form on Heather’s face. “I see a smile!” Linda declared. Heather gave her mother a shy but full smile. In return, she gave her daughter a kiss.

Still shaken, Heather wanted to spend more time with her mother. She asked a question she knew would take her mother a while to answer. “Mommy, why do you call me Heather-bear?”

“When you were little, you were a good sleeper. You still are. You could fall asleep anywhere. Sometimes, I’d find you asleep on the love seat, next to your toys, even in the bathroom a few times when it was very hot and humid. I think you liked the coolness of the tile floor. Whenever that happened, I’d pick you up and carry you to your crib and, later, your bed. But, when you were a baby, your favorite place to fall asleep was my arms.” 

Heather gave a smile and softly giggled. Paul smiled fondly to himself, thinking that it was adorable.

Patting Heather on the back, Linda continued, “I’d hold you on my lap, you’d settle into my right arm and close your eyes, no matter what time of day. You loved to sleep. Sometimes, if I was tired enough, I fell asleep, too. You were the perfect size for snuggling; you fit in my arm just like a teddy bear. You weren’t a Teddy, though—your name was Heather so you were a Heather-bear.”

“I liked that story. Does that mean you’re Linda-bear?”

Linda smiled. “How about ‘Mommy-bear’? Linda’s what grown ups call me.”

“I like Mommy better.”

“’Mommy’ it is. Come on,” she encouraged, “let’s go wash your face and get you back to bed.”

“Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?” Heather asked.

“Of course,” Linda assured.

While tucking Heather in again, thunder crackled. Linda saw her daughter’s body tense. “Remember—it’s just noise,” she comforted.

Sitting upright, she told her mother as she snuggled Kitty “Mommy, it’s scary.”

“It can be. But we need the rain, Heather. It’s how the park stays so green. It helps trees and farmer’s crops grow. It helps animals survive. Rain is really important.”

“But why does it have to be so noisy?”

“I’m not sure. It just has to be that way sometimes.”

“Mommy, Paul looks like someone.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” Heather said as she rubbed her eyes. “But he looks like someone. Did I ever meet him?”

“No, you haven’t ever met him. You’ll figure it out when you’re not so tired. Lie down and get comfy,” she encouraged.

Heather lay down on the mattress. She tossed and turned, struggling to find a comfortable position for her and Kitty. Heather soon realized that she was not tired enough to go to bed.

“Mommy, I’m not tired,” she complained.

How could Heather not be tired, wondered Linda—it was almost 11 PM and she had just cried. She needed her to fall asleep, as she jet-lagged. “What about a story?” she sluggishly suggested

“No. Mommy, I want you to stay here,” Heather insisted.

“I’m not going anywhere, Heather. I want to make sure you get to bed,” Linda hurried. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

“Just stay here,” she repeated as she looked up at her mother.

“I will. But you’ve got to close your eyes,” she reasoned. Moments passed, filled with the sound of Heather tossing and turning. Heather opened her eyes and complained to her mother, “I can’t sleep.”

“Do you want a cup of tea?”

While her daughter pondered the idea, Linda told her that she would go boil a pot of water. Paul followed Linda into the kitchen, asking her if Heather had fallen asleep.

“No,” she said as she let out a frustrated sigh. “She can’t sleep. I’m going to boil some water so I can make her a cup of tea.”

“Could singing her a song help?”

Linda cocked her head in thought and guilt. “You don’t have to do that,” she said apologetically. “You can go back to bed. You’re probably as tired as I am.”

“It’s no trouble, love.” He added, with a bit of pleading in his voice, “let me have a go. Please, Lin?” Always one for making a good impression, Paul yearned to get on Heather’s good side.

“I’ll ask her,” she relented.

While Linda went back into the living room, Paul readied his guitar in the bedroom. Based on Heather’s fascination with his guitar before, he knew she wouldn’t object.

Linda returned to Heather, sitting at the foot of the bed. “Are you feeling sleepy at all?” She hoped Heather would say ‘yes’.

“A little,” she said.

“Well, Paul had an idea. He thought singing you a song would help you fall asleep.” 

Heather beamed; she was delighted by the prospect of Paul singing her more songs. 

Linda could hear Paul’s optimism from her bedroom. She knew what her daughter was thinking—this was another way for her to stay up later. “Heather, this isn’t so you can stay up, this is to help you go to bed,” she insisted. “If Paul plays you a song, you have to promise me that you’re going to try to fall asleep.”

“Ok,” she said.

“Promise me,” Linda pressured.

“Promise,” Heather agreed.

Linda met Paul back in her bedroom, giving him a reluctant smile. “You’re quite the optimist.”

“Always have been,” he winked. “Is she ready?”

Linda smiled to herself. “How’d you know she’d say yes?”

“Not many people can resist the charm of a song.”

Linda leaned against Paul as he held her in his right arm. “Is that why you sang to me?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s why I wrote you ‘I Will’. I meant every word.” Paul could feel Linda’s heart thumping against his chest.

“Mommy!” Heather called.

“Duty calls,” Paul told Linda. “You coming to my gig, then?” he taunted.

“Sure. I’ll be there for moral support—five year olds are a tough crowd.”

“Ta, love. I’ll need it,” he chuckled.

Paul and Linda fit themselves into the “room” one after another, holding each other’s hands. Paul saw Heather lying on her right side under the covers with Kitty snuggled in her arms. Paddington lay, tucked in, behind her.

“Hello, Heather,” he said quietly as he sat on the floor.

“Mommy said you’re gonna play songs,” she replied with some sluggishness. Heather felt the bed shift as her mother sat on the other side.

“Yeah, your Mummy told me that you were having some trouble going to sleep. I figured that a song or two might help you get some kip, er, some sleep,” Paul yawned.

“What song?”

“Something a friend of mine wrote. Are you, Kitty and Paddington all comfy under there?” With Heather’s affirmation, Paul began to sweetly sing “Good Night”. He could see how tired, yet excited she was to hear him play. He could also tell that she was struggling to keep her eyes open so she could watch him. Paul stopped after he sung, “close your eyes and I’ll close mine” because Heather didn’t do so.

“You didn’t close your eyes,” he said playfully.

“You didn’t close yours either!” she retorted. Like her mother, Heather was quick.

Paul smiled. “Alright, then. I’ll close my eyes and play guitar. But you have to promise to close yours, too!”

Linda liked the way Paul handled the situation by diffusing it with humor. Paul knew he had to do so; otherwise, Heather wouldn’t have been receptive.

“But how will I know you closed your eyes?” Heather lethargically argued.

Though Heather was tired, she, like her mother, would never be tired enough to lose her determination. “I’ll close mine first, then you’ll close yours. Sound good?” he compromised.

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

“Alright, Heather, time for bed.” Paul began to sing again:

“Now it’s time to say goodnight,  
Goodnight, sleep tight,  
Now the sun turns out his light,  
Goodnight, sleep tight,  
Dream sweet dreams for me,  
Dream sweet dreams for you,  
I’ll close my eyes and you close yours,  
Goodnight, sleep tight…”

Once Heather saw that Paul closed his eyes, she closed hers. After a few seconds, she wanted to open them again to see if Paul told the truth; her eyes wouldn’t let her, as they were too heavy. True to his word, though, Paul kept his eyes closed. When he finished the song, Paul made a pillow with his hands to rest his head, then pointed to Heather. Linda could make out Paul’s silhouetted motions from the streetlights. “Thanks,” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The feeling of Linda’s breath in his ear made him radiate with excitement. “I’ll wait up for you, love,” he whispered back as he lightly dragged his right index finger down Linda’s neck. Linda shivered with pleasure.

Paul looked back at Heather, fully immersed in slumber. He had sung his cousins, his step-sister Ruth and even Jane to sleep, which he was always made him happy. It gave him pride to do something he loved for the people he loved. But this time meant more, simply because the person he sung to sleep was Linda’s little girl. Paul left with not only his guitar, but also a feeling of pride and contentment.

Linda sat with her daughter, noticing that the rain had subsided. She kissed Heather on the cheek and whispered, “I love you, Heather. Sleep tight.” Linda hoped, this time, Heather would sleep through the night.

There in her bedroom, she found Paul in bed holding a perfectly rolled cigarette. She could use some grass.

“Heather alright?” he asked.

“Sound asleep. Thank you,” she said.

“My pleasure. She’s adorable and absolutely edible, Lin.” Linda heartily laughed at Paul’s bizarre complimentary description of her daughter. Realizing Heather was asleep in the other room, she attempted to stifle her laugher into giggles. She was laughing out of both amusement and exhaustion.

“You’ve got the giggles and we haven’t even started toking yet,” he commented, making Linda’s efforts to stifle her laughter even more of a challenge.

As she finished laughing, she commented, “I’ve never heard anyone use the word ‘edible’ to describe a person.”

Paul explained that his mum used the word to describe some of the babies she delivered. “Not that Heather is a baby. She’s lovely,” he continued. Picking up the rolled cigarette, he asked Linda “shall we?”

“Edible,” Linda laughed while shaking her head ‘no’.

“Maybe it should be ‘should I’, instead.”

“Come on, let’s share it,” she insisted.

Soon, she and Paul sat in a faint haze of smoke, giggling and becoming very tactile. When they got hungry, they went into the kitchen for something to eat. Linda stood next to Paul in the cramped kitchenette, drinking milk and feeding each other Oreos. She delighted in teaching Paul her own special way to eat the cookies; he was a fabulous, willing and eager student.


	22. Chapter 22

The next morning, Linda woke up in her bed beside Paul. The only bachelor Beatle was still fast asleep, snoring. Linda laughed to herself, watching Paul sleep with his mouth slightly agape. She kissed her snoring beauty on the lips before snuggling next to him. Linda still felt quite exhausted, but not enough to fall back asleep. Instead, she closed her eyes and savored the early Saturday morning silence in attempt to relieve her headache.

Paul awoke about two hours later; it was only about 9 AM. When he looked to his left and saw Linda, he smiled. Linda was fast asleep but Paul was slowly waking and famished. He returned to bed with a glass of milk and some buttered toast. As he ate, he tried his best to not get crumbs all over the bed.

With Linda lying next to him in her green paisley pajamas, it was exceedingly difficult to keep his hands to himself. Paul very much wanted to touch or kiss her. He knew, though, that he couldn’t, as Linda was a fairly light sleeper.

Thirsty, Paul tactfully got out of bed. When he returned, Linda had awoke.

“Morning, love. Did I wake you?”

Linda rolled to her left and sat up. “No,” she said while she stretched and yawned. “I’m surprised I fell back asleep—I was just laying there next to you. You were snoring.”

“Me? Never,” Paul insisted.

“I should make you a recording to prove it,” she smiled. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. Are you hungry, love?”

Linda stretched again. “Yeah, a little. You want something to eat?”

“Please,” Paul said as he leaned down to kiss Linda on the lips, not caring that she had morning breath. “Ta for the lesson last night. You’re an excellent teacher.”

Linda eagerly returned his kiss. “It helps if you have a good student,” she said modestly. “Let me go brush my teeth and then I’ll make something.”

They returned to bed with their breakfast—fried eggs, buttered toast and strong tea. While they ate, they discussed their childhood interests, which easily transitioned into a conversation about their favorite rock and roll albums.

Heather, who walked into Linda’s bedroom carrying her trustworthy stuffed animal, interrupted their conversation. “Hi Mommy,” she said as she climbed on the foot of the bed. Mindful of the plates, she crawled her way atop the mountainous covers toward Linda to give her a kiss.

“Good morning, sweetie pie. How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” she said with a yawn.

Heather’s yawn was contagious, as Linda began to yawn as well. “How ‘bout Kitty and Paddington? Did they sleep well?”

Heather lay down against her mother’s chest and began to groom her furry best friend. “Kitty slept good. Paddington is asleep.”

“There’s someone in this bed who you haven’t said ‘hello’ to yet, Heather.”

Turning her head toward Paul, she said good morning to him, too.

“Good morning, Heather,” he said with a smile. “Kitty looks well pampered.”

“Mommy, what’s ‘pampered’?”

Linda took a swig of her lukewarm tea. “It means well-taken care of.”

Heather smiled. “I love him,” she explained. “Mommy, I’m cold. Can I get under the covers?”

“There’s no room, Heather. You can get a blanket from your bed to keep warm,” Linda suggested.

Heather pouted—she loved snuggling with her mother in her gigantic bed when her mother was home and was alone. Sometimes, she even got to sleep in Mommy’s bed. They would sometimes stay in bed for hours, sleeping, eating breakfast or playing together. Though, now, Paul, upsettingly, took her rightful spot next to her mother.

“Go get one of your blankets from your bed. We’ll still be here when you get back,” Linda joked.

When Heather came back, Linda helped her spread the two blankets—one a burnt pink, the other beige. Heather sat at the foot of the bed, leaning where Linda’s feet once were. Linda had snuggled next to Paul, who was stroking her blonde hair. Occasionally, when Paul rubbed her neck, Linda giggled.

“Mommy, why are you laughing?”

Looking up at Paul with tired eyes, she told Heather it was because he was tickling her.

Jealous, Heather latched onto her mother and gave her a hug. “Can I have a kiss, Mommy?”

Linda gave Heather a kiss, then settled back into her pillow. She was enjoying her romantic morning in bed with Paul. When Heather came in, Linda was happy to see her; she missed her little girl while she was gone. But she wanted her romantic morning to continue. Now that she was home, she would have to learn to savor the moments she had alone with him.

“I love you, Mommy. I missed you.”

“Me too,” said Linda lethargically.

Heather settled into the curves of her mother’s body, finding an amenable spot. The blankets combined with the warmth of Linda’s body heat to make Heather feel almost perfectly content, if not for Paul taking her spot. “Remember when we were in bed? We played tic-tac-toe. And you and me drew pictures, Mommy. And we ate pancakes. I liked that. Do you remember?”

Linda smiled as if she was drunk—Heather’s memory subdued her minuscule resentment. “I do,” she whispered. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over from exhaustion and jet lag.

“I liked that, Mommy. I had fun and I wanna do it again,” Heather said. She hoped that by reminding her mother how much fun she had and how much she loved her that she would get her way.

“Mmm-hmm,” distractedly agreed Linda as she closed her eyes and shifted her weight.

“Mommy, wake up!” Heather insisted. The phone rang. “Mommy, the phone is ringing.”

Linda let out a sigh. “I’m very tired, Heather,” as she slid further into bed.

“Mommy, you have to answer the phone. I can’t reach it!”

“The answering service will get it, Heather.”

Much as Paul wanted to stay there with his potentially ideal family, he knew that Linda needed her rest. “Heather, do you want to hear me play guitar? We’ll let your Mummy sleep.”

“Nooooo,” Heather moaned. “I wanna stay with Mommy.”

Paul tried again to entice Heather to stay with him so Linda could get some more rest. “Your Mummy needs rest. We can draw or even color! And when Mummy wakes up, we can show her all your beautiful drawings. It’ll be a lovely surprise, Heather! We’ll have lots of fun, come ‘ead!”

“No,” Heather disagreed. “I’m tired. I wanna sleep with Mommy.” To reinforce her words, Heather hugged her soon-to-be-slumbering mother.

Paul swallowed his dejection. Yesterday, he practically had Heather eating out of his hand when he played songs on the guitar—what had changed?

“It’s alright,” Linda assured.

“Sure?” Paul asked, cautious but hopeful. The more time he spent with Heather, the sooner she would like him.

“Yeah,” mumbled Linda.

“Do you need anything, Lin?” Paul asked, taking Linda’s hand.

“No thanks. There’s food in the fridge if you get hungry.”

“I’ll probably go out for a walk in the park.”

Linda opened her eyes to look at Paul. “Do you know your way back? Have you got the key?”

“I should be alright. I know your address and I know where the key is. Sleep well, Lin. Sweet dreams, Heather.” Paul placed a kiss on Linda’s lips. As soon as Paul left the bed, Heather climbed over her mother to take her rightful place under the covers. He helped Heather pull the covers over her and Kitty. Paul then maneuvered his way to Linda. When she felt him rubbing her back, Linda rolled toward Paul. Taking her right hand, she guided his neck down to whisper “don’t worry. Just give it time. I know you’re trying.” To ensure he knew that she meant it, she gave Paul an affectionate kiss on the lips.

After adjusting the covers for Linda, he grabbed a pair of bellbottom jeans and a scruffy chartreuse cable-knit sweater out of the bag from the charity shop he and Linda stopped at after they arrived. He, then, opened Linda’s top drawer of her dresser, taking out a bag and some rolling papers. Prudently closing the bedroom door, he let mother and daughter sleep in peace.

While Linda’s sentiment certainly buoyed his spirits, he could not shake the disappointment from his mind. Paul reached into his pocket to ensure there were enough cigarettes in his pack and that he had his lighter. He dashed down the back stairs, knowing there was little chance of running into anyone. Paul needed time alone and fresh air to clear his mind. Staying in the apartment would only make him feel more useless.


	23. Chapter 23

Heather bounded into her mother’s bedroom yelling “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”

Linda slowly opened her eyes, still exhausted from the time change. Quickly, she shushed her daughter. “Paul’s still asleep. You have to be quiet so he doesn’t wake up.”

Heather moved closer to her mother. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” she apologized. 

“Heather, I want you to remember there are 3 people in this apartment now.”

Heather chose to ignore her mother’s comment. She then whispered in her mother’s ear “can I get into bed with you?”

“Mm-hmm,” Linda responded as she carefully shifted so as not to disturb Paul.

Heather and Kitty cuddled next to Linda. Though she tried, she struggled to find a place on the mattress that felt comfortable; at times, she kicked her mother’s legs. “Heather, stop squirming. You’ll wake Paul,” Linda admonished.

“Sorry, Mommy. It’s crowded in the bed.”

By the time Heather and Kitty found an amenable place, Paul had awoken, coughing brusquely.

Linda sighed “Heather, you woke Paul up.”

Hugging Kitty, Heather apologized to both her mother and to Paul. After finishing his coughing fit, he told them both that he was already half-awake. Linda doubted, but accepted, his excuse.

“It’s alright, Heather. Good morning,” he yawned. “Morning, Lin.”

“Good morning, Paul,” she said as she gave him a kiss on the lips.

“How’d you sleep?” he said, his voice gruff.

“Mmm, alright. I could use a few more hours, though.” Linda yawned. Playfully, she told him “your yawn’s contagious.”

Not wanting to feel left out, Heather interjected “I slept good, too!”

“Sorry,” Paul laughed. He then began to yawn again.

“Gotcha!” winked Linda.

Gracefully, Paul turned his yawn into a smile, which Linda could barely resist kissing. Though, she knew if she did, it would turn into something more.

“I slept good, too!” Heather repeated.

“Did you?” asked Paul, enthusiastically.

“Yeah!” Heather continued “Mommy, can you move over? I’m falling off the bed.” Paul scooted closer to his side of the bed. Linda moved toward Paul, who placed his left hand on her left hip.

“Paul,” Heather began.

“Hmm?”

“You look like someone.”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat. “Who do I look like?”

“I don’t know,” Heather disappointedly clarified. “But you look like someone.”

“Have you ever been to Central Park?”

“Yeah, I have. I loved it there.”

“Are you the ice cream man? The ice cream man sounds like you.”

Paul laughed. “I haven’t ever done that, but some ice cream does sound delicious. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Chocolate,” Heather responded immediately.

“Mmm, me too.”

Heather gasped, remembering what she wanted to tell her mother a few days ago. “Mommy, when I went with grandpa to school one day, we saw a policeman on a horse! And it made me miss you because you like riding horses.”

“That’s very sweet, Heather.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

While parting her daughter’s hair, Linda asked “you mean horse riding?” Heather shook her head yes. “Sometimes,” she commented softly.

“You should ask a policeman to ride one. Then you wouldn’t miss it any more.”

Paul and Linda chuckled to themselves. “I like that idea, Heather, but the horses are there to help the policemen do their job. They help the police to go through traffic quickly if there’s an emergency.”

“But, Mommy, horses are supposed to live on a farm,” Heather commented as she pet Kitty’s head.

“They do. That’s why they live out in the country where there’s space for them to run around and graze on grass.”

“The policemen have horses that live in the city. Do they make them run around in Central Park?”

Heather’s curiosity and innocent question made Linda smile. Paul did as well, to which Linda was oblivious. She was completely focused on the conversation with her daughter.

“I don’t think so, Heather. The policemen make sure the horses get their exercise just by riding them while they’re on duty.”

Heather laid her head closer to her mother. Interested, she continued the conversation. “Mommy, did you have a horse?” Heather asked as she yawned. In her haste to confirm her mother was, in fact, at home, she sacrificed sleep.

“I did,” she smiled fondly. “His name was Charlie. I rode a few horses when I took riding lessons but my favorite was Charlie. He was such a good friend—a beautiful chocolate brown Appaloosa stallion. I liked other horses, like Captain Jack or Billy, who were friendly and caring, but Charlie was always my favorite—he was gentle, friendly and caring. He’d never go too fast. If I got down to wander around where we stopped, he’d stay right where I left him. And he was a good listener when we were training for competition. He could do all the jumps and trots for that but we were both happiest when we were riding aimlessly.”

At this moment, it occurred to Linda that Paul was listening, too. She had never mentioned him that she had been a champion horse rider when she was younger. Though she was proud, those ribbons didn’t matter; the mere pleasure of riding aimlessly was better than training a horse to compete—she missed the refreshing sense of peace and freedom that riding gave her. In her childhood, particularly when she was a teenager, Linda used riding as an escape.

Paul was surprised at Linda’s revelation. He knew that Linda had rode horses when she was younger, but never that she was a competitive rider. 

“Where’d you ride Charlie?”

She described all the wonderful and sentimental places in the woods she discovered (and kept to herself) near her childhood home in Scarsdale, New York, unable to contain the smile on her face. Linda had forgotten some of the stories and places until she told Heather (and Paul). It reminded her of a time that she gradually became more restless. As she grew older, her interests had evolved from horse riding to music and boys. Linda, of course, still rode when she got older, but not competitively. She realized her greatest joy was the experience, not the “reward” competitive riding brought.

“Mommy, can you teach me to ride a horse? And then we can ride horses together!”

Shaking her head ‘yes’, she told her daughter, “someday. I promise.”

Paul decided that he would do everything he could to make that day sooner than Linda ever expected. As he did, he saw her reach for her camera and take a picture of Heather.

“Why do you like riding horses?”

Paul concentrated on Linda’s answer. “A lot of reasons,” Linda began. “I get to go outside, be in nature, explore places I had never been to. I felt relaxed and free and peaceful when I was riding any horse. All of the pressures from life just blew away. I could feel my hair blowing, I could smell and see gorgeous wildflowers and birds…sometimes, when I was brushing Charlie in his stall, I’d talk to him and I knew he was listening. He was one of my best friends, really. I didn’t have too many friends when I was younger. Charlie would always listen.”

“How’d you know he was listening to you, Mommy?” Heather quietly asked as she squeezed Kitty tight.

Fondly, Linda smiled at her daughter. “I just knew,” she casually explained. “I’d spend hours in his stall brushing him and petting him while I talked. He was such an affectionate horse. When I would stand next to him, he’d sometimes lick my arms or cheek. And, sometimes, when I’d be in my tack room…”

“What’s a tack room?” interrupted Heather.

“A tack room is where you store all the things you need to ride your horse, like a saddle, which is what you sit on…in the tack room, Charlie would come up behind me and kiss the back of my neck with his upper lip. If I was scared or worried, Charlie would try to make me feel better by nudging me a bit with his nose; it was his way of giving me a kiss.” Linda paused her ramblings to sigh.

“Mommy, you get scared?”

“Sure,” she assured. “It doesn’t happen often, but, sometimes, I still do.”

“I didn’t think grown ups were allowed to get scared.”

“Everyone gets scared sometimes, Heather. People usually get scared because something is unfamiliar to them. Adults have the benefit of experience so, usually, they don’t get scared. But, sometimes, something happens that frightens them.” ‘Like Mom’s plane crash,’ thought Linda.

“Like what?”

“It’s different for every person. Sometimes, people even conquer their fears because they realize that what scared them was, actually, not so scary. That happened to me—until I was about your age, I needed a night light to sleep because I was scared of the dark. Your uncle John scared me into believing that there was a monster that would creep under my bed when the room was all dark. If I wasn’t careful, he would grab my foot and try to pull me under the bed.”

“That’s stupid, Mommy,” Heather dismissed. “Monsters aren’t real.”

“It’s not nice to tell someone that their fear is stupid, Heather.”

Heather didn’t understand—her mother told her that she wasn’t scared of the dark any more. “Why? Mommy, you’re not scared of the dark any more. You don’t sleep with a night light.”

“That’s true, but that doesn’t mean that, at the time, it wasn’t something that was very difficult for me or the person who told you their fear. How would you feel if I told you that being scared of the dentist is stupid?”

Her mother’s words stung. As she remembered her frightening experience at her first dentist appointment almost three years ago, her heart and lips trembled. Though she meant well, Angela had alarmed Heather by telling her all about the odd tools he used and about the horrific, pain- and blood-filled experience that her nine-year old brother had the last time he went. Linda promised Heather that her experience with Dr. Sills would be a positive one.

After having to wear a space suit while getting a few pictures taken of her teeth with a gigantic camera, she and Mommy waited together. With barely more than a ‘hello’, the dentist and the same lady that took her space pictures entered the room. While the lady put a paper bib on her, the dentist looked at her space pictures with a light. Pointing to one space photo, he said something to the lady about “poking” and “scraping”. Heather cringed as her pulse radiated, feeling her strong heartbeat beside her temples; in another room, she heard high- and low-pitched rumbles of machinery. Kitty’s fur and familiar scent reassured her. When she tried to move toward her mother, who was sitting facing her, Linda placed her back in the chair. Holding her hand, she whispered words of encouragement and gave her warm, reassuring smile. When it was time for the dentist to do his work, Heather gave her mother a long, tight hug. Not allowed to hold Kitty or hold Mommy’s hand, she felt cornered and alone as two unfamiliar faces said words that she did not understand when all put together.

The dentist then turned on his blinding light. Sitting close to her, he blocked part of the light with his head. His masked face gawked at her as he held up two tools, one of which was very sharp hook, its point gleaming in the assaulting light. The dentist, then, instructed, “open up.” When she vigorously shook her head ‘no’, he told her that she should be a good girl and do as she was told. “I haven’t got all day.”

In terror, Heather jumped out of the chair and into the safety of her mother’s arms. Mommy said something to the dentist that sounded very angry and then carried her out of the office. Afterward, for being such a brave girl, Mommy took her to the playground and bought her pizza. Though her current dentist, Dr. Bishop, was a caring, gentle giant, the thought of the word ‘dentist’ made her stomach knot.

“Heather?” Linda asked.

Her mother’s voice released her from the nightmarish memory. “Bad,” she timidly and breathlessly answered.

Linda could tell Heather had remembered her awful experience, for which she felt responsible. It was only later that she heard from Lillian that, one month before Heather’s appointment, Dr. Sills had come home to discover Rebecca, his wife of 25 years collapsed, on the kitchen floor. As she poured herself a glass of water, she felt chest pains and then fainted. Though their marriage had experienced some rough patches of late, the incident had frightened him into imagining what it would be like to live without Rebecca. Since then, he feared that, one day, he would walk into the apartment, only to find the love of his life had died.

In a desperate attempt to erase the last experience from her daughter’s memory, Linda immediately tried to find Heather another dentist. After some thorough searching, she found Dr. Bishop. Just to be sure, she made an appointment. Almost instantaneously, Linda knew he was the kind of dentist Heather needed—someone who was soft-spoken, patient and understanding. Though Heather liked and grew to trust him, a trip to the dentist was and, most likely, always would be a struggle for her.

Sitting up, Linda pulled her daughter close, feeling Heather’s heart thump against her chest. ‘Heather’s learned her lesson,’ she thought. “Would you want anyone to feel like you do now?” Heather shook her head ‘no’. As she rubbed her daughter’s back, she continued, “that’s why you shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“Thank you, Heather.” Knowing that her daughter needed it, she continued to hold her and stroked her daughter’s hair. Paul, internally, marveled at how easy Linda made it seem to raise, comfort, teach and even discipline her daughter.

Eventually, Heather asked, “did I make you feel bad?”

“A little,” Linda lied. “I appreciate you apologizing.” As they sat for a moment, Linda could feel Heather calm. She gave her a kiss on her right cheek for good measure. “Are you hungry? How about some French toast for breakfast?”

When Heather pulled back, Linda could see a faint smile on her face. “Yeah,” Heather answered. “Would you like some, too, Paul?”

“What’s French toast, love?” he asked, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Oh, eggy bread! That was delicious. You made that for breakfast sometimes, or even dinner. We poured golden syrup all over it. Very good, that. It’s still odd to eat it for breakfast, though. Mum used to make it for dinner sometimes with some meat.”

Linda smiled. “I make mine with challah, which I couldn’t find in London.”

“What’s…uh, challah?” Paul carefully pronounced.

“The best bread in the world!” Heather interjected.

“Ok then,” Paul laughed. “You’ll show me after I brush my teeth. Come ‘ead, treacle.”

Paul, Linda and Heather crowded into the tiny bathroom to do their bathroom chores. Afterward, they crowded into the kitchen to begin their lazy Sunday.

 

While in the kitchen, the phone rang. Linda picked it up and answered “hello?”

“Linda! You’re home from London. How was it?”

“Hi Danny,” she responded politely. “It was good. It was really good.” Paul squeezed his way out of the kitchen, as he could tell that the conversation was going to last a while.

“What did you do while you were there?”

“Oh,” Linda said nervously. “I took some pictures, mostly. Actually, I’m in the middle of making breakfast.”

“Ok, well I can call back later…you can call me back. Either one—I’m not going anywhere. I missed you, Linda.”

With guilt, Linda smiled as she dusted her hands of challah crumbs. “Thanks, Danny—I missed you, too. I’ll call you sometime soon. I still have to get settled from the trip.”

“I understand,” Danny nodded. “Take your time, Linda. Say ‘hi’ to Heather for me.”

“I will, but only if you say ‘hi’ to Lillian for me.”

Danny laughed, “it’s a deal. Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Thanks, Danny. Bye!”

Hearing that the conversation was over, Paul returned to the kitchen. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” answered Linda, drifting off. “Can you halve these pieces of challah for me?”

Linda beat the eggs, realizing that if she wanted to continue her relationship with Paul, she was going to have to isolate herself from her friends. Knowing that Paul was staying with her would only be beneficial for selling newspapers. Dating a Beatle didn’t always have its perks.


	24. Chapter 24

The bell on Linda’s alarm clock clanged at 7 AM. She sighed, thinking about the welcomed two weeks she spent without one. Keeping her eyes tightly closed, Linda rolled to her right and slapped the clock to stop its incessant annoying ringing. She could easily have used three more hours of sleep, as her body was still confused by the time zone change.

Lying on her back, she rubbed her eyes and wiped the sleep out of them. The dull pain near her sinuses gradually intensified as she looked around the room. Paul, who was a heavy sleeper like Heather, was occasionally snoring. What a lucky man he was to be sleeping; once again, she would have to begin the chore of getting Heather out of bed and ready for school. 

After a five-minute lie-in, Linda left the warmth of her comfortable bed and Paul’s body heat to do her bathroom chores. Her apartment was drafty. Even with socks, the cream colored carpet was unwelcomingly frigid. The stylish green peacock feather-patterned pajama set Paul bought for her birthday kept her body fairly warm.

Without Linda beside him, Paul noticed his body temperature and level of relaxation drop. In his lucid dream, he hogged more of the three layers of fleece-like blankets. Ironically, the flush of the toilet muffled by the bathroom door comfortably awoke him. Linda could hear Paul coughing from the bathroom.

“Morning, love,” his husky voice mumbled, then began to cough. His silky purple pajama top, along with Linda’s pajamas, brightened the dull bedroom tones. “What’re you doing up?”

“I have to get Heather up for school,” Linda croaked.

“Oh, yeah,” he yawned and then coughed again. Paul rolled back over to his left side, slipping into a half-slumber. How nice it was to have a lie-in without a cat alarm clock or an insistent nuzzle from a dog. Even with his eyes closed, Paul’s eyes felt heavy. Nothing a little coke couldn’t have cured…but he stopped doing it a few months ago, as it had become too popular and he grew tired of it. Paul decided to feel better the old fashioned way—sleep…after a brief cigarette.

Linda finally pried Heather out of her blanket-laiden cot through reluctance and whining. She tried to keep her quiet while she was getting ready, as Paul was still sleeping in her bedroom. Before they left, Linda gave Heather a peanut butter sandwich to eat while they walked to school.

Along the way, Linda’s one hand held Heather’s hand while the other held her jacket close to her body; she was freezing. Her knees and neck had a dull ache as her body slowly awoke.

At school, Linda hugged and kissed her daughter outside Miss D’Annunzio’s classroom, telling her that she would be there to pick her up later. On the walk home, her eyes glazed over. She coached herself to believe that she was not as jet lagged as she felt. She would have to fight through this, as she promised Paul she would show him New York.

In his half slumber, Paul heard Linda enter her bedroom. As he lay there in silence, he felt as thought he didn’t want to get up. The essence of that feeling was a familiar one—there were plenty of days when all Paul wanted to do was have a good lie in…all day. The longer he stayed in bed, the more that feeling intensified. This time, however, it was different, as Paul wasn’t sad; those feelings had started to subside since he came to New York. There were no people standing outside his gate, no press hounding him and no arguments to face in the studio. He had a lot on his mind, though. Most of his thoughts concerned the status of his and Linda’s relationship.

Linda went around to the left side of the bed to see if Paul had awoken. Paul slowly opened his beautiful gold-flecked hazel eyes. The sparks of contentment she saw were gave her the feeling that Paul’s time in New York was doing him good.

“Morning, Lin.” His voice was not as gruff as it had been when he first woke up, but was still just as sexy.

Linda sat on the bed with her back to him. “Good morning,” she replied.

“You take Heather to school?”

“Yeah, I did.”

A coughing fit overtook Paul’s lungs. Linda returned to the room with a glass of water.

“Ta,” he replied. Paul could tell Linda was exhausted. The enthusiasm and warmth she normally had in her eyes was virtually gone. And she was still wearing her black pea coat. “You alright? You look dead tired.”

“I’ll be alright.”

“You still have your coat on,” he noticed.

“I kept it on ‘cause it’s warm.”

Paul insisted, “it’s warmer under here.”

Linda smiled knowingly. “I did promise you a tour of New York.”

“But you won’t enjoy it if you’re as knackered as that.”

“I’ll be alright,” she assured him again.

Paul sat up to be at eye-level with Linda. He parted her hair to brush the stray strands out of her face. “You look positively knackered, Lin. Come have a lie-in with me. It’d do you some good. I insist.” Paul’s right hand traced Linda’s spine just enough so she could feel it through her jacket. “Come ‘ead, take off your jacket and back into your jim-jams. Get under the covers with me, love.” He woke up feeling relieved that he wouldn’t have to face the paparazzi or screaming girls outside his door; he could be himself with Linda. And, right now, that meant getting Linda back in bed to have sex.

Linda considered Paul’s reasoning. While she knew he was right, Linda had a feeling that Paul wasn’t so much concerned with her welfare as he was about having sex. She was not in an amorous mood. “You’re putting me on,” she protested.

Paul insisted he wasn’t with a kiss on her right cheek. “I’m quite warm under here. If you get under the covers, you’ll warm right up.”

Not being able to convince herself she could cope any longer, Linda relented. She told Paul that she would be in after she made herself a peanut butter sandwich in the kitchen.

Linda returned to the bed with two halved peanut butter sandwiches and two hot but quickly cooling cups of tea. Paul ate while Linda changed into her pajamas.

As she tucked herself into bed, she already felt some of her tiredness dissipate. “How can you be less jet lagged than I am? You were on the same flight.”

“Beatle side-effect, I suppose,” he yawned. “But I’m a bit knackered, as well. I could use some kip.”

“So could I,” Linda said, grabbing half a sandwich. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you the city some more. “ The phone rang; Linda ignored it, asking, “what’d you want to do while you’re here?”

“You sure, love?”

“Yeah, the answering service’ll get it.” she trailed. “What do you want to do while you’re here, Paul?”

“I’d like to see the Statue of Liberty, Greenwich Village and see some more museums. Central Park looks gorgeous. We could go walking there some more.” Paul paused to smack his lips and lick the peanut butter off the roof of his mouth. “And anywhere else you think is good. I do like the Underground here.”

“You mean the subway?”

“Yeah. Reminds me of London, that,” Paul said as Linda set her alarm.

“Well,” Linda mused, taking a bite of her peanut butter sandwich, “I think you’d like the Apollo in Harlem.”

Paul frowned with concern. “Isn’t it a bit dodgy up there?”

“It can be. But I think you’d enjoy seeing the theater. There are some really talented performers there.”

“You’ve gone there alone?”

“Yeah. You just have to carry yourself a certain way. There are some great music shops up there, too. It’s a whole different scene—much more inner city, not as gentrified. Though it’s still in the borough of Manhattan. There’s a new dance company that’s up there. It was started by a man who used to dance with the New York City Ballet. I’ve heard good things. They have some tasty soul food up there, too—fried chicken, chicken fried steak, sweet potatoes, black eyed peas, biscuits…the American kind, that is.”

Paul stretched his back, then slid further into the mattress. “That sounds good.”

“You could come see the Fillmore East, too.”

“Your second home?” Paul warmly smiled with excitement. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“You showed me yours. It’s only fair,” Linda quipped.

Paul settled into the covers and asked, “do you want to go there tomorrow?”

Linda swallowed her gulp of tea to ask “The Fillmore East or Harlem?”

“Anything. I’d love to do any of it, Lin.”

“Alright. We’ll decide tomorrow,” Linda distantly replied. Right now, getting some rest was her biggest concern.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Linda said as she bit the last of one half of her peanut butter sandwich. “The tea helps.” Looking in her mug of tea, she said “and now it’s gone. I’m going to make myself another cup. I’ll get you one, too.”

Linda returned to the bedroom with two replenished mugs of tea. Her headache and the edge of her chill had lessened but she could not wait to fall asleep. Halfway through her second cup, she put the mug on her nightstand—she would finish the rest when it was cold.

“You going to sleep then?”

Linda nodded ‘yes’ as she stretched her arms. She lay down on her left side. Contentedly, she sighed when she found the perfect position in which to fall asleep.

Paul snuggled with his future wife, giving her a kiss on her right cheek and telling her to “sleep well.” Luckily for Paul, she did not fall asleep immediately. He began to tenderly rub Linda’s back with his left hand while his right rested on her right hip. Paul then kissed Linda on her right cheek again. Skillfully, his right hand slid to her stomach, which slowly expanded and contracted.

Linda’s initial instincts proved to be correct—Paul wanted her back in bed so he could have sex. Wanting to drift off, Linda clasped Paul’s hand to let him know that she wasn’t in the mood. “Not now,” she mumbled.

One-armed, Paul continued to rub Linda’s back. Stroking the hair away from her neck, Paul gave her a single kiss there. Cradling the small of her back, he lightly drew his fingers on her bare, warm skin in the hopes Linda would begin to laugh.

“Paul, stop it,” Linda asserted. “I’m trying to go to sleep. I’m tired.” Linda scooched her way toward the right side of the bed, hoping to make her sentiments clear. After a short pause, Linda felt Paul’s rough beard and kisses on her neck.

Irate, Linda practically jumped as she sat up. She glared at Paul. “STOP IT! I am not in the mood right now,” Linda sharply stated.

Disappointed and surprised, Paul sat up as well. Linda was in the mood the few times they had sex in London. “Well, you were already in bed.”

“Is that why you told me to get back into bed?!” she asked as she crossed her arms.

“I didn’t mean…I…”

Before he could respond, she hotly continued “I am exhausted, Paul. Exhausted. When you told me that you wanted me to come back to bed, I chose to give you the benefit of the doubt. I thought you were actually concerned. But I was wrong. If you can handle being in bed with me without having sex, you can stay. Otherwise, go do something else!” Linda’s body hit the mattress hard as she tucked herself in yet again. With her back to Paul, she angrily sighed. She had gotten out of bed to get him tea while he never lifted a finger. And now he wanted more. Pushing her angry thoughts aside, Linda tried to concentrate on sleep.

Initially, Paul was angry that Linda wouldn’t give him what he wanted. All the other girls he had sex with had always given him what he wanted. “Well why can’t we have sex now?”

“I just told you—I’m. tired. Let me go to bed!”

“You’re already in bed!” Paul angrily reminded her. When he got angry, his Liverpool accent thickened.

“You know what I meant,” Linda said, laying on the sarcasm. “You were the one who convinced me to get back into bed in the first place, though it sure as hell was for the wrong reason!”

Outraged, Paul got out of bed. “Oh, so it’s MY fault, eh?!”

“YES!” she yelled, burrowing herself under the covers. Paul slammed the apartment door in response. Barefooted, he went out to the fire escape for a smoke.

It dawned on Paul that Linda was one of the first women to reject him and, certainly, the first one to do so while he was in bed. Being a Beatle meant that he always got what he wanted. Usually, Paul could coax at least some halfway decent sex out of a girl. He got through one and a half cigarettes before he could no longer convince himself that he was right. He realized that Linda had the guts to tell him ‘no’—he hadn’t heard that word in a long while. Much as he liked getting what he wanted, hearing her answer was certainly a change. The guilt began to set in, as Paul knew that what he did was wrong.

He also knew Linda was still angry. Paul wanted to make nice, as he didn’t like it when there were tensions between him and someone else. He opened the bedroom door. His frigid feet against the plush yet cool carpet contrasted with his hand on the warm and inviting covers. “I’ll be good,” he reassured, placing his hand atop the covers near Linda’s right shoulder. With a kiss on her right cheek, he said, “I promise.” Paul waited for Linda to say something. When she didn’t he added “come ‘ead, love, don’t go to bed angry.” He soon realized that Linda had fallen asleep.

Paul carefully searched for his socks under the covers, then left Linda to sleep in peace. In the kitchen, he dialed the operator to ask for the closest flower shop. He inquired the shopkeeper if he had either wildflowers or lilies of the valley, Linda’s favorites, but they didn’t. Paul remembered Linda also had a fondness for daisies. Luckily, the gentleman on the phone said he had ones of all colors. After ordering two-dozen amber yellow gerbera daisies on very rushed delivery, Paul grabbed a book from the bookshelf and got back into bed. Like a good little boy, he kept his hands to himself.

 

When Linda’s alarm rang, the first thing she saw was a blur of yellow. Her alarm clock was nowhere to be found. Linda’s heart softened a bit as she found amber yellow gerbera daisies in its place. Suddenly, the ringing stopped. She turned toward where Paul would sleep to find, to her surprise, Paul himself and her missing alarm clock. He gave her a warm smile, wishing her a good afternoon and asking how she slept.

With heavy eyelids, she said, “once I fell asleep it was alright.” Linda was still perturbed at Paul.

“Well, after you fell asleep, I sat here with me hands to meself like a good little boy,” he said with an innocent smile and his hands together in mock prayer.

“Did you?” Linda asked, not amused. Stretching her back, she asked, “but what about before?”

“Well, uh…before, I wasn’t such a good little boy,” Paul said as he looked away from Linda. “But I can learn.” Pointing to the flowers, he said, “I got you those. I know they’re one of your favorites.”

Linda grabbed the two bunches of flowers. “Thank you, Paul. But, see it from my side—you wanted me to get into bed only to have you persistently try to get me to have sex, even after I told you ‘no’. You need to respect that. When you persisted, I just felt like another conquest. I really want this to work, Paul, but I need you to respect my boundaries.” Lowering her voice, she added “this is getting serious, Paul. I was away from Heather for a long time.”

”I know, love.”

“Do you?” she challenged.

“I do. I can tell how much you love Heather. You’re a great Mum, Lin. She loves you loads.”

Linda sighed. “I appreciate that you said that, Paul, but that’s not my point. You might be used to one-night-stands and a purely physical relationship but I can’t do that for you.” Looking him straight in the eye she demanded, “I won’t. That’s not what I want this to be. I’ve done that and I’m through with it.”

Paul’s stomach and heart were tangoing. For the first time, he did not want to keep a relationship or girl-on-the-side at the status quo of sex and, possibly, companionship. With Linda, he wanted both. While he knew girls had feelings, he thought they got some level of satisfaction and flattery from getting attention from a Beatle. He felt badly about just kicking them out of his bed so he would cuddle with them or make out a bit after they were done. But, after that, he rarely gave them another thought; they both had gotten what they wanted—done and dusted, onto the next conquest.

“I should’ve listened to you, Lin. I saw how knackered you were and I ignored it. I’m sorry. Alright, then?” Very few women had ever put Paul in his place. When Francie did, it was annoying and wore thin quickly. When Linda said it to him, it hurt. He realized it was because he loved her.

Paul took Linda’s ultimatum to heart…but still wanted sex. He knew that now was not the time to ask for it. After a brief lie-in, Linda got dressed to pick Heather up from school. Paul went with her. Along the way, he asked Linda about her days as a champion horse rider. Semi-embarrassed, she told Paul about her experiences and, when he pressed, about the prizes she won.

 

Heather was excited to see her mother and eager to show her what she discovered at school.

“Mommy! Mommy look! I have a loose tooth!” With pride, Heather wiggled her loose tooth in the bottom front with her tongue. Quickly, Linda snapped a photo.

A smile grew on Linda’s face as she gasped. “You do! That means the Tooth Fairy is going to visit soon. You’re growing up, Heather. I’m very proud of you, sweetie.”

Heather grinned. “Does the Tooth Fairy have our address?”

“She does,” Linda laughed as she nodded ‘yes’.

“Can I see, too, Heather?” Paul asked. Again, Heather wiggled her tooth. “Look at that wobbly tooth! The Tooth Fairy’ll be lucky to get such a pretty one.”

“Thank you,” she blushed.

“When did you discover it was loose?”

“At lunch when I was eating my apple. My tooth felt weird and I showed Miss D. She told me.” Her mouth open, Heather wiggled it with her right hand.

“Heather, let that tooth fall out in its own time.” Linda made a mental note that, soon, she needed to make an appointment for Heather at the dentist.

“I got a gold star, too!” Heather exclaimed, showing her the gold star sticker she was wearing on her black Dalton sweater.

“A gold star?” Linda asked excitedly.

“Miss D said that I did a good job reading!”

Linda gave her daughter a kiss on the cheek, telling her that she was proud of her accomplishments. Both of their comments made her beam with pride. Linda snapped another photo.

“What story did you read?” she asked.

“Curious George. Everyone in the class was reading and Miss D told me to read a sentence. I got every word right and she gave me a gold star!”

“Tonight, before bed, will you show me how good a job you did by reading me a story?”

“Yeah! Mommy, when Tommy was reading the story, he didn’t do good. His sentence was hard and then he told Miss D that the story was stupid. I like Curious George. He’s a funny monkey.”

Linda twisted the handle on Dalton’s main entrance. “Oh, Tommy the troublemaker?” she asked.

“Yeah,” replied Heather.

“The point is that you did well, Heather. I’m proud, sweetie.”

When they got home, as a treat, Heather received an extra Oreo with her milk. Linda had to buy more on the way home because they ran out of them after her late night lesson with Paul.

Paul and Heather sat in the living room, watching afternoon cartoons and eating Oreos while Linda put away some of her photos and called the messaging service. She had three messages, all from Lillian, in varying degrees of annoyance; it had been at least two weeks since they last spoke. Though she knew that she owed her a call, with Paul in the apartment, she absolutely couldn’t. One of the first questions out of Lillian’s mouth would have been about Paul. Never any good at lying, Linda knew that Lillian would see right through her.

Later that night, as promised, Heather read to Linda before she went to bed. Heather chose her favorite story, “Cuorduroy”, to read to her mother. Linda read “The Story of Paddington Bear” to Heather. Kitty, Paddington, and her daughter, listened intently.

Linda then told Heather that she and Paul were going out and wouldn’t be back until much later. Eric Burden, who waved ‘hi’ to her, would be there if she needed anything. He let Linda and Heather have their moment as he stood and talked with Paul.

“Where are you going?” Heather asked, lying on her side. Kitty was snuggled between her chest and the covers while Paddington was tucked behind her.

“We’re going to a jazz club tonight. But I’ll still take you to school tomorrow.”

“It’s gonna be just like when you took pictures?”

Linda nodded her head. “Exactly. I’ll see you when we get home.”

Heather frowned. “No, Mommy, wait! Are you going to London again?”

“No, we’re just going out in the city.”

Heather sighed a breath of relief. “Oh, ok. Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Sure,” Linda replied as she rubbed the blankets covering her daughter’s torso.

“I love you, Mommy,” Heather said with a kiss.

Linda kissed her daughter in return, telling her daughter “I love you, too, Heather.”

“Mommy, will you play with me?”

Shaking her head ‘no’, Linda informed her daughter “not now, Heather. It’s bedtime.”

“I know! But you promised to play with me,” Heather reminded her mother.

“We will. Just not right now.”

Stubborn, Heather was bent on getting her way. She missed spending time with her mother alone. “I wanna play on the swings. You can push me! And then I wanna go down the swirly slide and across the pretty castle bridge in the park. Please, Mommy?”

Though anyone else would wonder which park Heather was describing, Linda knew exactly what her daughter was begging for. The playground in Central Park was Heather’s favorite.

“After school tomorrow, we’ll play together.”

“Promise,” Heather demanded.

“I’ll pick you up after school and we’ll play together in Central Park. Just you and me, I promise. It’s time to lay down now. Close your eyes.”

Heather smiled “thank you, Mommy”. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow!

Ten minutes later, Heather had drifted to sleep. Linda pulled the covers up so she wouldn’t get cold. She thanked Eric, telling him that she and Paul didn’t know when they would be home but that he was welcome to anything in the fridge or the pantry. With everything in order, she and Paul left for a night on the town.


	25. Chapter 25

Linda and Paul arrived back at the apartment around 2 AM. They squeezed so much out of those few hours since Heather fell asleep. They had gotten some last minute tickets to the opera but, after 10 minutes, walked out—they both couldn’t stand it. Instead, they decided to eat dinner in midtown after which they marveled at the 59th Street Bridge, stopped for a drink at Flannigan’s Bar and ended up at the jazz club, Ondine, to hear Sonny Rollins and his band play.

Eric told Linda that Heather was good but had woken up once, asking for her. With payment in hand, she thanked him and he left.

While Paul got ready for bed, Linda checked on Heather. Feeling her mother adjusting the covers for her, Heather awoke, dazed but happy.

“Mommy,” she sleepily greeted.

“Hi Heather-bear. I didn’t mean to wake you up—I just wanted to fix the covers. Go back to sleep, sweetie.”

Her eyes heavy, Heather quickly fell asleep again. The next time Heather awoke was at the behest of her mother. 

Before Linda dropped Heather off at school, she, again, asked her what she wanted to do afterward. Heather gave her the same answer—going to the playground in Central Park.

While Heather was at school, Linda and Paul toured Harlem. Linda took her camera, snapping up a storm. They stopped to look at anything that interested them, including thrift stores, churches and what would be the first of many trips to the world famous Apollo Theater. The cashier in the ticket booth asked Linda and Paul if they were sure they wanted to go in there. They said they were sure. They both stuck out like a sore thumb, being the only two white people in the theater. Neither of them minded much, as they were more interested in the entertainment.

Right before they took the train to pick up Heather from school, they grabbed lunch at Sylvia’s Soul Food. It was there that Paul tasted his first American biscuit.

When Linda told Paul that Heather wanted to spend some time alone with her, he was disappointed. “It’s going to take time, Paul,” she said, putting his right hand on his left. “Heather’s used to spending time with me alone. It’s how she grew up.”

Paul swallowed his tea hard. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Why couldn’t he and Heather get on better by now? Paul’s left hand let go of Linda’s, moving it to his tea cup to feel it’s warmth and smooth ceramic glaze.

Linda continued, able to tell that Paul needed some reassurance. “And after being away, it’s only natural she’d want it to be the way it used to. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you.”

Paul picked at the chicken bones on his plate.

“I can tell she likes you, Paul. She taught you her secret for how to eat Oreos. She doesn’t show that to just anyone,” she said, giving him a warm smile. Once Paul saw Linda’s, he couldn’t contain his. “You passed the Kitty test, too. And you got her to come out of her shell when you played guitar. When she loves someone, it shows. But she’s just…she needs time. I know you want her to like you but it’s only been a few days. She’ll come around. Just be patient.”

After lunch, they took the A train back to uptown Manhattan, where she parted ways with Paul. On the train, more than a few stared. One or two of those people came up to Paul to tell him they were fans, making him happy. When Linda offered him the apartment key, Paul told Linda that he would explore the park on his own. They agreed to meet at Mimi’s for pizza around 6 PM.

At school, Heather greeted her mother with a warm hug and kiss. They walked, hand-in-hand, to Central Park, passing the Aroma Bakery, the hospital and even stopping to look at the beautiful, intricate Gothic architecture of the Russian Orthodox church. Heather, proudly, read all the signs she could to her mother—stop, don’t walk, no parking and more. Though a bit annoying, Linda didn’t want to discourage Heather from reading. She was quite proud her daughter could read so well. When Linda saw Heather playing with her loose tooth, she reminded her daughter to leave it alone.

Once at the park, Linda pushed Heather in the swings until her Mary Janes could touch the clouds. Heather decided to try pumping her legs to swing herself when she saw an older Chinese boy doing the same next to her. She, however, learned that it was more difficult than it seemed. When she asked her Mommy to push her some more, Linda did so. She also had fun jumping on the bouncy bridge, monkeying around on the chin-up bars and running around the playground itself. Her favorite, however, was riding down the regular and the curly tube slides. After much insistence, Linda did the same.

Having exhausted the playground toys, Heather decided that it was time to leave. She didn’t want to play in the sandbox and she wasn’t strong enough to do the monkey bars by herself for very long. Holding her Mommy’s hand, they walked at a slow pace to Mimi’s, trying to discern what each cloud’s shape resembled. When they ran out of clouds, Heather 

“Mommy, how do you know Paul?”

“We met when I went to England before.”

“How did you meet him?”

“I took pictures of him and his band.”

The color of the sky began to match the color of the fall foliage that plastered the trees and littered the ground. Heather crunched a leaf with her foot. “Are you friends?”

“Mm-hmm. He’s one of my best friends.”

Concerned, Heather asked “but what about Lillian and Danny? Aren’t they your friends, too?”

“You can have more than one friend, sweetie. Lillian and Danny are my friends, too.”

“And Eric Clapping? And Eric from last night? And Jimi with the headbands and funny hair? And Jim Morris?”

Quickly, Linda responded “yes, them too.”

“Mommy, why do you have a lot of friends that are boys?”

Linda was taken aback by her daughter’s question. She paused for a moment, processing what she heard; Heather had begun to notice. Then, she answered, “they’re nice people who I can have good conversations with. That’s part of what makes a good friend.”

“But you kiss them sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Linda conceded. “But not any more.”

“Why?”

Seeing a bench, Linda walked toward it, hand-in-hand with Heather. Following her mother’s visual cue, she sat beside her with a large golden and red-tinted leaf she found on the ground.

“I just don’t want to. I used to and now I don’t.”

“Why?” Heather rubbed her nose with both of her hands.

Linda sighed. Explaining this to Heather was both difficult and slightly embarrassing. She only wanted to have some fun; she never expected Heather to notice. Perhaps, she had not given her enough credit. “Sometimes people don’t feel that way about each other any more.”

“Did you not wanna kiss Daddy any more?”

“Yes,” she simply replied.

Heather looked down at the leaf, rolling the stem back and forth between her right thumb and index finger. Instead of speaking, Linda, slightly nervously, waited for Heather to gather her thoughts.

“Do you hate them?”

“No, I don’t hate anyone, Heather. I still care about them, though.”

“But you don’t love them.”

Looking straight at her daughter, she told her “just because you don’t love someone doesn’t mean you don’t care about them. I still have things in common with them. And, if they were sad, I’d still try to cheer them up. Caring about someone isn’t an on and off switch. It’s something that changes.” Linda then took Heather’s hands in her own. “Your hands are so cold! Let me warm them up.”

Heather remained silent while her mother squeezed her hands in an attempt to warm them. As she gazed at nothing in particular, Linda could see that her daughter’s mind rustled with worry.

“Do you kiss Paul?”

“Yes,” she replied, unable to hide her smile.

“What if, one day, you don’t want to kiss him?”

“I don’t know,” Linda answered, shaking her head. “But I don’t want to think about it, Heather-bear. That would make me sad.”

Heather pulled her hands away. Concentrating on the leaf, she continued to think (and worry).

“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” she said, beaming again. “I love him very much.”

“Who do you love more?”

Linda lowered her brow. “I love you both for different reasons. I love Paul because he’s kind and funny, a great listener, thoughtful, intelligent. We both love music and art. He was very sweet to me while I was staying with him. And he asked me so many questions about you. That’s how he found out that you didn’t have a teddy bear. He said that if your nickname came from the words teddy bear, it was only right that you had one.” Heather gave a small smile. “I love you because you’re thoughtful, friendly, affectionate…”

“Mommy what’s affectionate?”

“It means you like hugs and kisses. You’re smart, good at drawing, you help me cook, you make me laugh…you’re my little girl. I knew you nine months before anyone else. It’s not a competition, Heather.” Raising her chin up with her fingers, she emphasized, “it never will be.”

 

Wednesday, October 16

The next day, Linda and Paul took the Staten Island Ferry. Paul thoroughly enjoyed his ride, marveling at the Lower Manhattan skyline that was full of skyscrapers. It had been a long time since he had this much fun on such short money. Linda showed him the gorgeous 19th century buildings at Sailors’ Snug Harbor. When she told Paul that there was a movement among land developers to tear the buildings down, he was disappointed—why would anyone want to tear down buildings as historic as these? But when you live in a city with as many people as New York, there’s bound to be a fight for space.

On the ferry ride back, Linda asked if he wanted to walk around and get lunch in Chinatown. Paul eagerly agreed. Once they were in Chinatown, she pointed out that Wall Street, the financial center of the US, was just a few blocks away. Paul didn’t seem to be interested, in which Linda was glad. New York’s culture was more interesting than it’s money.

One day, Linda left Paul to explore the city on his own. She suggested the East Village, including the Cooper Union Building and the chess players and street performers in Washington Square Park. Linda had errands she had to run and, because there would be so many unfamiliar people there, it was best if she went alone. For the first few days of Paul’s visit, he and Linda always went together to pick Heather up from school.

Barring her initial resistance, Heather grew to genuinely enjoy Paul’s company. When Heather wanted to come home and play with her, Linda obliged, but encouraged Paul to participate, as well. Linda would start playing with Heather and then, after about fifteen minutes, would make an excuse that she had to do house chores, like folding laundry or washing dishes. Occasionally, she would check her messages; there would always be a few from Lillian and possibly one from Danny. Linda’s feelings changed from wishing to call them back to wishing that they wouldn’t keep asking her. Paul’s visit virtually prevented her from calling them. They would ask what she had been up to and, somewhere in there, Linda would have to casually mention the last bachelor Beatle was staying in her apartment.

Paul took great joy in playing with Heather. While he enjoyed playing pretend or coloring, his favorite thing to do was to sing to her. Eventually, Heather mustered the courage to sing with him; as he suspected, she had a lovely voice. Most of all, he enjoyed helping her with her, occasional, homework and talking with her. They compared notes on what it was like growing up in England versus America. School was the biggest difference but they enjoyed many of the same activities like reading, drawing and listening to music.

Linda saw how well they got on. Now that Paul didn’t have the regular pressures of the studio and Beatles business, she could see how relaxed he was; he could enjoy taking life as it came. Excited that there was the potential to have this relationship be long-term, she decided that leaving Paul alone with Heather for an afternoon would be a good test. On Monday, while Paul was still asleep, she scheduled a last minute mid-afternoon dental appointment for the following day.

The next day on train back from Little Italy, she mentioned the appointment to Paul. He was excited to spend some time alone with Heather. When he asked how they should get home, Linda told him that she would walk with him until the 86th street subway station, as her dentist’s office was close. Heather would lead the way home from there.

While walking, Linda asked Heather about her day at school and what she did. She told her mother about the games she played at recess with Angela and her new friend Rosie. Angela made it to the slide and back on the monkey bars and then Heather did the same all by herself. The class troublemaker, Tommy, however, had to sit out during recess because he interrupted Miss D too many times during class.

Linda stopped at the steps down to the 86th street station.

“Mommy, why are we stopping here?” Heather asked.

“I have to go to the dentist,” Linda said. “You’ll go with Paul the rest of the way home.”

Heather hesitated, then mustered enough courage to ask “can I come?”

Linda, surprised by her daughter’s response, had to think on her feet (and reminded her that she needed to make an appointment for Heather). Though, Linda didn’t care for going either, she knew it was a way for Paul and Heather to spend time alone. She crouched down to be at eye-level with her daughter. “But how will Paul get home? He’d get lost without you,” she explained with a smile.

Heather stood there in thought as people rushed downstairs to catch their trains, then moved to give her mother a hug. Linda smiled back at her daughter and, with a kiss, said “goodbye, sweetie. Don’t let Paul get lost—he’s counting on you!” She knew that, while Heather didn’t like this sudden change, she would have a great time with Paul. Linda stood up and said goodbye, telling Paul that she would be back when she was finished.

Paul gave Linda a passionate yet delicate kiss on her graceful lips. Holding the small of her back, he could feel the soft cotton of Linda’s yellow Nehru tunic jacket beneath his rapidly cooling fingers. “Goodbye, love,” he said, breaking the rule he set days ago. “Tell the dentist not to tamper with perfection.”

She laughed to herself, commenting, “we’ll see what Dr. Bishop has to say about that.” With another fleeting kiss on the lips, Linda turned and left. She was nervous, partially because of her impending to visit the dentist but, mainly, because Heather and Paul had never spent time alone. Though her instincts told her this was a good idea, she still had a hint of doubt.

Heather stood there watching her mother walking away until she could no longer discern her among the crowd. After Mommy said goodbye to Paul, she felt a pat on her head, as if it would reassure her that she would, indeed, return. She had never been left alone with Paul—what if he was different? What if he was mean and yelled? Heather wanted her mother to come back.

As Paul watched Heather watching her mother walk away, he wondered what she was thinking. It brought back memories of sitting in his bedroom watching his mother bike off to deliver another baby. He always felt a twinge of sadness as he did so. He, rightly, assumed Heather must be feeling the same way. Paul wanted Linda to come back, too, as he couldn’t wait to kiss her.

Feeling that someone was watching him, he looked down to find Heather looking up. He gave her a smile. “Come on, then,” he coaxed, taking her hand. “You’ll lead the way home so I don’t get lost.”

Standing at 86th and Lexington, though he knew the way home by now, he asked Heather how they would continue. Heather pointed toward the candy shop on 85th and they walked in silence. Every few feet, she would look back, only to find a crowd of unknown people instead of her mother.

“Did you want something to eat when we get home?”

Heather shook her head ‘no’.

They continued onward down the street in the same pattern as before. After a few more seconds, Paul stopped in front of an empty shop. He crouched down to meet Heather’s eye line. “You miss your mum,” he said with sincerity. Heather looked down at the gum stuck on the sidewalk but Paul continued, “I miss her, too, Heather.”

Heather looked up at Paul with a straight face. Paul was as good as Mommy when it came to guessing how she felt. Puzzled, she practically whispered “really?”

Grinning, Paul shook his head ‘yes’.

“Why?”

Taking Heather’s hand, he lead her to the steps outside the shop. “There are lots of reasons,” he explained as his smile grew. “Your Mum is kind, friendly and thoughtful. She’s a wonderful mum—I can tell how much she loves you. She’s easy to talk to, a great listener. She gives sound advice and is very smart. She’s a talented photographer, a delicious cook and a knowledgeable tour guide. She’s shown me a lot of amazing places around the city. And her hugs and kisses are the best! I bet those are some of the same reasons you miss her.”

Heather sat on the step, holding her knees, as she quietly listened to Paul and tried to hide a smile. He sounded like he was telling the truth—he said some of the same things that Mommy did. And he couldn’t stop smiling while he talked, either! She realized that he loved her Mommy as much as she did. Looking at Paul, she shook her head ‘yes’. “I love her.”

“Me too, Heather. I can tell.”

“You can?”

Paul shook his head yes with a warmhearted closed-mouth smile. “You were very protective of her the first time I met you.”

“You aren’t a detective!”

Paul giggled. “No, not detective, protective; it means that you wanted to take care of her. You wanted your mum all to yourself. You wanted to make sure she was alright. I could tell you missed her—you were hugging her pretty tight. Sometimes, when you’re with her, you smile…just like that.” Like her mother, Heather had a sparkle of happiness in her eyes when she genuinely smiled; Paul knew Heather agreed with him. “Your mum loves you, Heather. She’ll come back from the dentist in time for dinner.”

Heather looked down at her shoes. Paul was being just as nice to her as he was when Mommy was there. And he even made her feel better. “Thank you,” she said definitely.

“’You’re welcome, treacle,” he smiled back.

“Treacle?”

“It’s a kind of syrup in England, kind of like molasses, but not as thick. It’s very sweet,” Paul explained. “Just like you.” Heather blushed, looking down in embarrassment. Changing subjects, he asked “you ready to walk the rest of the way home, treacle?” Heather enthusiastically nodded her head ‘yes’. “Then lead the way, Miss Tour Guide!”

Heather grabbed Paul’s hand and they began walking again. Soon, they were in front of Roberto’s Shoes.

“That’s where Mommy gets my shoes,” Heather pointed. In the window were shoes of all styles and colors for men, women and children. Heather craned her head upward to see a pair of whimsical pink and grass green saddle shoes.

“Want me to pick you up so you can see?” he asked Heather.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed. Heather loved being picked up. As she grew older, the chances she got to do so diminished exponentially. Sometimes, if a man, like Jimi or Eric, babysat her, they would. And, now, she had a live-in babysitter who could.

Paul picked her up to allow her to get a closer look. He was also quite happy that she accepted his offer. It was the first kind of close personal contact they had since he met her. Paul had wanted to hug her when she had that nightmare or give her a kiss on the cheek before school, but he knew that Heather wasn’t ready for that. Heather still stayed close to Linda, sitting next to her at dinner or on the train. This was a welcome change.

She and Paul spent a few minutes at the window, picking out their favorite shoes. Heather loved the bright yellow flats with the large red daisy design on the front and the white high heels with red trim and a red and blue bow. Paul picked a pair of baby blue and brown saddle shoes and a pair of black lace-up dress shoes with a half-inch heel. He also mentally noted a pair of cotton amber yellow tennis shoes that he knew Linda would like. When Paul joked that the pair of tall, white vinyl go-go boots were about half Heather’s height, she giggled.

“You see any other shoes in there to add to our imaginary shopping bag?”

Heather shook her head.

“Want to go home then?”

“Yeah. My nose is cold,” she commented as she rubbed it.

Paul started walking toward home but, stopped when Heather yelled, “wait!”

“What’s wrong?”

Heather’s shyness returned, as she timidly asked Paul if she could ask him a question.

“Sure,” he said, shifting her in her arms.

Heather carefully traced the seams in Paul’s army jacket, which had little bumps on them. Distracted, she asked, “why do you have hair on your face and Mommy doesn’t?”

“Do you mean this?” Paul asked, pointing to his beard. “That’s called a beard.”

Heather paused in thought. “But why doesn’t Mommy have one?”

“Only men can grow beards, treacle.”

“Oh,” she quietly replied. With the palm of her right hand, Heather attempted to rub her red, frigid nose. “How do you make one?”

Paul delighted in Heather’s natural curiosity about the ways of the world; it seemed to be one of the many traits all children shared. “You can’t make one. A man just stops shaving his face.”

“Does it hurt?”

“To shave? Nah. When you shave, you use a razor. The razor cuts the hair that’s growing. It cuts it very close so your skin feels smooth.”

Heather cringed. “It hurts!”

Paul shook his head ‘no’. “It doesn’t,” he reassured. “And you use shaving cream, which helps the razor glide smoothly.”

“Mmm, shaving cream!” she happily commented, rubbing her nose again.

Paul laughed. “You can’t eat it, Heather! It’s just meant for your face when you shave.” It occurred to him that Heather had probably never seen someone shave. “I’ll tell you what—the next time I shave, I’ll let you watch.”

Heather lit up with excitement. “Really?!” Paul promised that he would. With hesitation, she asked, “can I feel it?”

“Sure.”

Heather lightly drew the fingers on her right hand across Paul’s left cheek. She commented that it felt prickly. Paul told her that right after he shaved, his skin felt smooth like the skin on her cheeks. She touched them for comparison, noting the difference.

“Are you ready to go home so we can warm up? Your nose’ll warm up too.”

Rubbing her cold hands together, Heather shook her head ‘yes’.

 

Paul carried Heather another two blocks to the apartment. He had to put her down when they got to the lobby, as he was exhausted. A cigarette took Heather’s place in his hands. On their journey in the elevator, he picked her up again to let her push the ‘10’ button.

As soon as Heather set her backpack down and took off her shoes, she got into her tiger costume. Growling while crawling into the kitchenette with Kitty close by, she asked Paul for a snack.

“Hello little tiger, where’d you come from?” he asked, crouching down with a cigarette in his hand.

“The jungle!”

“Oh my, you must’ve had a long journey. The jungle’s a long way from New York City. What do you want to eat? Oreos?”

With a rosy nose and cheeks from the chilly autumn air, Heather shook her head ‘no’.

“No Oreos? Do you feel alright?” he asked, half in jest. He did as his mum used to do, putting the back of his hand to her forehead; he wasn’t sure what he was feeling for, as his forehead always felt warm as well.

Heather shook her head ‘yes’. “Tigers don’t eat Oreos,” she told Paul after letting out a growl.

Paul remembered what else Heather liked to eat. “Do tigers eat peanut butter sandwiches?”

Heather growled then said “no”.

“What do tigers eat then?” Paul looked in the refrigerator. Heather sat on her legs, feeling the chill of the black and white kitchenette tile and the refrigerator air. She held her cub, Kitty, at her hip as if he was a baby. “What about some orange juice?” Paul asked.

“But that’s only for breakfast time.”

“You can have it after breakfast time,” he said, taking a long drag. Paul’s eyes widened. “Breakfast! What about an omelet?”

“I wanna crack the eggs!”

Paul set tiger-costumed Heather and her cub on the counter, then the two eggs. He hunted for the bowl, a small pan and a fork.

Heather cracked each egg into the bowl with finesse—Mrs. Finch had taught her well.

“Wow, you did a great job! For a tiger, you’re very good at cracking eggs. Did you find lots of eggs in the jungle? Or lots of chickens?”

Heather giggled. “Chickens don’t live in the jungle! Chickens live on a farm. They go bock-bock-bock.”

Paul couldn’t help but smile at Heather’s animal impression. “Hmm, you sound a lot like a chicken to me,” Paul insisted. “Are you sure you’re not a chicken hiding under that tiger costume?”

Giggling, Heather insisted she wasn’t a chicken. She growled to prove that she was, indeed, a tiger.

“You certainly are a tiger!” he agreed. “Is your nose any warmer?”

Heather scratched Kitty’s belly. “No, it’s still cold,” she replied.

Paul playfully grabbed Heather’s nose between his left index and middle finger. He quickly put the very top of his left thumb between them, wiggling it. “Now I’ve got your nose!”

Heather felt her nose to make sure it was still there. When she discovered it was, she smiled. “No you don’t!”

Paul smiled back at Heather. “Nah, that’s not your nose,” he insisted. He showed her the little bit of thumb between his fingers again. “I’ve got your nose right here, treacle. You said yours was cold so maybe we should put it under a blanket to keep it warm.”

“You’re silly,” she giggled. “You don’t really have my nose.”

“I do!” Paul exclaimed. “Now, I do believe that we’ve got some eggs to make.”

“Can I have my nose back?”

“Not yet. It has to get warmer under that blanket.”

“What about now?”

Paul shook his head. “Nah, not now.”

Heather held Kitty’s left front paw with her right hand. “Will you give it back?”

“I’ll have to think about that one,” he teased. Paul took the fork and swirled it around the bowl. The whites and the yolks remained separated. How did people do this, especially with a cigarette in their hand? He gave up on his cigarette, putting it out by running water over it. He then, unsuccessfully, tried to mix the eggs again. And again. He asked for Heather’s help but she didn’t have any idea—she just said that Mommy mixed the eggs with a fork really quickly. After a few minutes taking turns stirring, it looked like the whites and the yolks had somewhat mixed together.

“Can I pour it in the pan?”

“You’re not old enough, Heather.”

With her quiet cub in her lap, Heather protested. “Mommy’d let me do it!”

“I doubt your Mum would let you get close to a hot stove.”

Heather whined that she wanted to pour the eggs into the pan. She thought Paul should let her do whatever she wanted because he wasn’t Mommy—he couldn’t punish her.

“No, Heather,” he said firmly. Paul wanted to be the good guy but letting Heather go near the hot stove was something he would not let any five-year old do.

As Heather pouted, she hugged Kitty and played with his tail. Paul wouldn’t let her have her way—she wanted to do it just like Mommy did.

The egg mixture went into the pan as soon as Paul turned the stove on. Shouldn’t it sizzle? He turned to Heather, who looked angry and glum. “Don’t pout, Heather. You’ve got lots of time to be all grown up. You can even use the stove,” he reassured. “Don’t rush your youth—enjoy being young.”

Heather was still slumped in the same position on the counter with Kitty. Bitterly, she said “ok”.

Paul didn’t want her to continue to pout, as it would ruin their time together. He sung to her:

Mary had a little watch,  
She swallowed it, it’s gone,  
Now everywhere that Mary walks  
Time marches on.

Heather tried to stifle her laughter, which came out as a snort.

A smile crept up on Paul’s face; Heather had already forgiven him. Part of the reason he loved children so much was that they were so easy to amuse. Children lived in the moment—by the time Linda got home, Heather would have forgotten that she and Paul had this little tiff. He continued, “did you hear about the vampire who swallowed a sheep?” he asked Heather, who was now sitting up.

“No.”

“He felt baaaaaaaad,” he smiled.

Heather laughed.

“Better then?” Paul asked.

“Yeah,” she said, snuggling Kitty tightly under her right arm. With her right hand, she wiggled her tooth.

“Heather, remember what Mummy said?”

“Leave my loose tooth alone,” she droned.

“That’s right.”

“When’s it gonna fall out?”

“It’s only been a few days. It takes some time.”

Heather squeezed her cub. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” Paul mused, scratching his beard. “I guess it depends on the tooth.”

“Did you ever lose a tooth?”

“Mm-hmm. I lost all of ‘em.” Heather gasped in fear. “Not all at once, treacle. They fell out one at a time, weeks and weeks apart. Months and, sometimes, years.”

“Does it hurt?” she squeaked.

“No, it doesn’t hurt. You just sort of…suddenly notice it’s not there. You feel something in your mouth and then you realize it’s your baby tooth. When you put your tongue where it used to be, there’s a space. A new tooth grows there in its place.”

Heather remained quiet for a few moments. Her stomach rumbled. “How’s it know when to fall out?”

“I’m not sure, Heather. It just does,” Paul shrugged. “The next time you go to the dentist, you could ask him.”

A chasm of fear opened in Heather’s stomach, which gurgled again.

“Your tummy sounds hungry. How ‘bout we get some food in it then?”

Paul looked at the small pan with egg. Maybe he should add something else to make it more special. He looked around the kitchen for Linda’s spices. He gave the omelet a generous shake of cinnamon and nutmeg. Eventually, it started to become less soupy.

“You cook different than Mommy,” commented Heather, trying to sneak a wobble of her tooth. “Mommy puts butter in the pan at the beginning.”

‘Wouldn’t the eggs get greasy with all of that butter in there?’ Paul wondered. Seeing that the eggs around the edges of the pan looked pretty solid, he decided to turn the omelet to the other side. He was only able to flip bits and pieces at a time as most of the egg had stuck to the bottom of the pan.

“Mmmm, I smell cinnamon,” said Heather. “See? My nose still works.”

‘At least it smells good’, thought Paul. ‘Maybe it’ll turn out alright.’

When the eggs were no longer runny, he shoveled the omelet onto the plate with the spatula. At this point, it looked more like a pile of eggs than an egg pancake. He gave Heather a fork telling her to be careful, as it was hot.

She took a bite and made a face—it was terrible. It tasted like burnt cinnamon and nutmeg combined with dry, overcooked eggs.

Though disappointed, Paul couldn’t say he was surprised. He hadn’t really ever done anything in the kitchen besides making tea or toast. “It’s no good?”

“No, it’s yucky! Can I have a glass of water?” Heather vigorously sipped the water Paul gave her to get the taste out of her mouth.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as Heather said it was. Paul took a fork and tasted it for himself. He made a face just like Heather had when she tasted it. This made Heather smile. She knew she was right—it was decidedly terrible. “Sorry, Heather. That omelet was quite awful.”

Her nose had lied to her. Maybe Paul really did take her nose. “Are you gonna give me my nose back?”

Paul shook his head ‘no’. “It’s taking a nice, long nap. After that, I’ll give it back,” he explained with a wink. Paul leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter to face the living room. “How ‘bout something else to eat that’s suitable for a tiger?” he asked. “To be safe, let’s make sure it’s something I don’t have to cook.”

“Umm…” Heather thought aloud. She looked around the kitchenette, noticing that Paul and his nose were right there. With her tiger-like reflexes, Heather seized on the opportunity, taking Paul’s nose. “I’ve got your nose!” she proudly exclaimed.

“’ey!” Paul said. “I need that, you know. Can I have it back?” he jokingly begged.

“No, it’s taking a bubble bath,” she laughed.

Paul grinned. “A bubble bath?!”

Continuing to laugh, Heather insisted that it was. She then asked for an apple with peanut butter.

Paul cut an apple for Heather, smearing peanut butter on the cut side of the large apple slices. He gave Heather a small glass of milk on the side, knowing Linda would approve.

Heather certainly did. She pretended to be a tiger as she devoured it (occasionally wiggling her gradually loosening tooth). Thirsty from her jungle exploration, she finished her milk without being asked.

While Heather was eating, Paul sat on the love seat with his guitar. He messed about with a song he worked on in India, tentatively titled “Jubilee”.

Heather crawled to Paul’s guitar case, noticing a tag. She crawled to it and tried to read the neat handwriting on what was hanging from the case. “If found, please return to E.M.I. stuh…stuhd…”

“Studios,” Paul helped. “Very good that.”

“Thank you.” Curious, Heather lifted the top of the guitar case. Inside she found some cigarettes, guitar picks and a clear bag with something green in it (which Paul promptly but politely took from her). She also found a piece of paper with an envelope with Paul’s first name, followed by another word that she didn’t recognize. Picking it up, she showed Paul “look—that’s your name. Paul!”

“It is. That’s brilliant, Heather!”

“What’s the word next to it say? It starts with an ‘M’.”

“McCartney,” Paul hesitantly explained.

“Your name is Paul McCartney.” Paul’s heart skipped a beat as he heard his name. “Your name is the same as someone Mommy likes.”

“Is it?” Paul grinned as his heart leapt with joy.

“Yeah. Mommy likes his music.”

“Your name is…hmm…what was it? Queen Heather Eastman?” Paul smiled.

Heather giggled, shaking her head ‘no’.

“Dr. Heather Eastman, then?”

Heather giggled again. “You’re silly!”

“You’re right,” Paul laughed. “You’re not wearing a doctor costume. You’re wearing a tiger costume. Would you like to hear another song, Madam Tiger Heather Eastman?”

He spent the rest of the afternoon giggling and entertaining Heather with his guitar (when she wasn’t pretending to be a tiger). Paul also taught her a bit more about the guitar. Heather, however, preferred to watch him play. When she asked Paul for her nose back, he told her that her nose was still napping. At Heather’s request, he told her the sheep joke again so she could tell Linda when she came home. The afternoon passed quickly. As it did, Paul realized that Heather enjoyed his company. Perhaps things would work out after all.


	26. Chapter 26

Linda opened the door to the apartment two and a half hours after she left Paul and Heather at the subway stop. She removed her black shoes to reveal her favorite pair of argyle socks. The feel of the plush carpet beneath her feet was a welcome change from the soles of her feet digging into the familiar grooves of her sneakers. Linda noted the odd smell in the apartment—cigarette smoke, eggs and burnt cinnamon and nutmeg. She found Paul sitting on the love seat, noodling on his guitar. Creatively, he had an extra bit of curled guitar string coming out of one of the tuning heads to hold his smoldering cigarette. Heather was in her tiger costume, crawling all around the living room and growling.

“Mommy!” Heather exclaimed. She gave her mother a hug. “You’re home!” she excitedly declared with a kiss. “Paul promised you’d come back!”

Linda was pleased to see that Heather was happy. “Of course,” she replied with a kiss. “And you got Paul home all by yourself, Heather! I’m very proud of you. You should be proud, too.” Linda gave her daughter a pat on the back. “Very good.” She turned to Paul, who was sitting on the love seat. “Hello, Paul,” she smiled, her right arm around Heather. “Did you have any trouble taming my little tiger?”

“Mommy?”

“What a lovely smile.” His comment only made Linda smile more.

“Mommy?” Heather asked again.

“And, yes, your little tiger was very good. Even her cub, Kitty, was well behaved. Very quiet.”

“Mommy, Paul won’t give me my nose back!”

Trying to contain her laughter, Linda turned to Paul.

Pointing to Heather, he defended “well, she has mine!”

“Alright, children, alright,” she amusedly insisted. “Why’d you take each other’s noses?”

“Paul wanted to see if he liked mine better. And he wouldn’t give mine back because it was taking a nap,” she explained. She started to giggle, telling her mother that she took Paul’s and gave it a bubble bath.

Curious, Linda asked “a bubble bath?”

Heather continued to giggle, nodding her head ‘yes’.

“I know how we can solve this,” said Linda. With a smirk, she asked Paul to give Heather her nose back.

“As long as she gives me mine back, I will,” he said in jest.

Linda smiled, then turned to her daughter. “Heather, will you give Paul his nose back please?”

“Yes,” she said, hugging Kitty.

When he placed Heather’s nose back on her face, Paul made a ‘pop’ sound with his lips. Heather then pushed Paul’s nose, telling him that she didn’t have his any more. 

“Dr. Bishop asked for you, Heather. He was excited to hear that you have a loose tooth.”

A pit of nervousness swelled inside Heather’s stomach as she looked down at her mother’s bell-bottom jeans and argyle socks. She wanted her to change the subject.

“Is it getting much looser?”

Heather’s eyes moved to the blank television screen, where she could see her reflection. “Yeah,” she replied, as she heard people honking on the street below. Her shoulders were tightly raised as if they could wrap around her. Heather’s dry lips were tacky, allowing them to easily stick together. Maybe if mommy couldn’t see her teeth, she’d stop talking about them.

Linda decided to not press the subject of Heather’s loose tooth again for now; she would ask her again when she was tucked in bed.

“Did you want to tell Mummy the joke that I told you earlier this afternoon?”

“Yeah!” Linda encouraged. “I’d really like to I hear it, Heather. Can you tell it to me please?”

“What did the vampire…wait, I mean when the vampire…um…” Seeing that Heather was struggling, Paul whispered the first part of the joke to her in her right ear. She stumbled when she repeated the first part of the joke to Linda. “What…what did the vampire say when…” she asked, turning awkwardly toward her mother. Instead of helping, Paul allowed her to try by herself. She continued with the rest of the joke, saying, “when he swallowed the sheep?”

Linda repeated the question to make sure she heard it correctly. “Um, I’m not sure. What did he say?” she asked Heather, who was sitting on her lap.

“He felt baaaaad!” Heather smiled with pride that she told the joke.

Though Linda didn’t think it was funny, she forced a laugh. “Very good.” Linda then turned to Paul, asking him what they did during the afternoon.

“We went imaginary shoe shopping at Faccinelli’s on the way home from school. We picked out some lovely ones, including some for you.” Glancing at Heather, he continued, “Heather’s going to try to wear those tall white go-go boots.”

“I think those boots are about half your height,” Linda commented.

“That’s what Paul said!”

Linda and Paul exchanged glances; they were so connected that, sometimes, they thought alike. “What else did you do?” Linda asked, addressing no one in particular.

“Paul made me a yucky omelet.” Reminded of the awful taste, Heather made a face.

“Heather,” Linda reprimanded. “That’s not a nice thing to say in front of Paul. How’d you feel if he said that about something you made for him?”

“No, she’s right. It was vile,” Paul chimed in. “I tried to make her an omelet but it turned out to be a disaster. I’ve learned my lesson—no cinnamon or nutmeg in eggs.”

Linda laughed, which made Paul laugh. To feel included, Heather laughed, too.

Turning serious again, Linda reminded Heather that if she didn’t have anything nice to say, to not say it at all. “You owe him an apology for what you said about the eggs he made,” she said.

Heather looked across the loveseat at Paul. When her eyes met his, she looked down to find the top of Kitty’s head. “I’m sorry, Paul.”

Paul placed his left hand on Heather’s right tiger-striped foot. “It’s alright, treacle,” he told her.

Heather’s left cheek rested against Kitty’s head. With a small smile on her face, she hugged her cub. Paul squeezing her foot made her smile grow. He squeezed Heather’s right foot again, then began to lightly rub it.

Her shoulders still tense, Heather began to giggle. “That tickles!” she cheerily exclaimed as she hugged Kitty and herself.

“You’re ticklish, Heather,” he commented, then fondly continued “just like your Mum.”

‘But I’m not ticklish there,’ Linda thought. Silently laughing, she remembered the first night she and Paul spent in London, tickling each other in bed. 

“Did you tickle Mommy behind her knees? Sometimes, when I hug her legs, she giggles.”

Paul gave Linda a boyish smile. As Linda smiled back, she knew he had every intention of trying that later in bed. “No,” he replied. “I tickled her tummy.”

Linda quickly changed the subject. “Ok, Heather, let me go change into more comfortable clothes.”

“Mommy, can I have Oreos?”

“No Oreos,” she admonished. “It’s too close to dinner time.”

When Paul followed Linda into her bedroom, Heather asked where he was going.

“I’ll be out soon. Why don’t you think of some songs to sing when I come back?”

Once in her bedroom, Paul longingly kissed Linda. “Glad the dentist didn’t tamper, love.”

Her heart was racing from Paul’s perfect kiss. “Not too much,” she said smiling romantically, kissing him again.

“Perfection,” Paul stated.

Amusedly giggling, Linda sighed “not quite. I’ve gotta go back.”

“He wants to see perfection again, eh?” Paul asked with his hands around Linda’s hips.

“Ah, no, he, um, has to finish the cleaning. He had a family emergency and had to leave. I don’t want to go back.”

“Should I go roll a cigarette, then?”

Linda shook her head ‘no’, telling him that she would ride it out. “There are things that are much more pleasant than that, though…like this.” She kissed his left cheek, then began undressing. “Was Heather ok after I left?”

“She was sad. She kept looking back to see if you were there.”

“Aww…” sighed Linda.

“I did me best to cheer her up and promised you’d come back. I think…” Paul paused. “I mean…she wanted…she wanted to know why I cared about you.”

Linda raised her eyebrows. “She asked that?”

“Well, erm, y’know, not exactly. I told her that I could tell she missed you and told her why I did. And she agreed that she missed her Mummy for the same reasons—that she’s easy to talk to, a wonderful listener, a giver of sound advice and brilliant hugs and kisses, a delicious cook and that you’re just a great mum…We had a lovely time together” he smiled. “…well, except for the eggs.”

Heather silently watched her mother as she carelessly threw her sweater in the hamper and her bellbottoms onto the bed. Paul had been gone forever and she wanted him to sing to her. But what Mommy and Paul were doing looked important; sneakily, she stood and watched.

Wearing only her pajama bottoms and a bra, Linda kissed Paul on the lips. “Thank you,” she said.

“I love you, Lin,” he told her as his left hand rubbed the curve of her hips.

Linda smiled, hugging him tight, as her heart thrashed. “I love you, too, Paul,” she warmly replied.

Though they said they loved each other, it was easy for Heather to see that Mommy and Paul really meant it. Watching from behind the doorframe, she realized Paul had told her the truth earlier in the afternoon.

Paul’s nervousness evaporated as the sincerity comforted and practically overwhelmed him. As he hugged Linda tight, he felt his heart soaring. The woman who he loved more than anyone else loved him back.

“I lo…” he trailed off. “I really enjoyed taking care of Heather this afternoon. She’s an adorable, curious, friendly little girl. We had a lot of fun giggling, chatting and playing guitar. It was incredible to watch her and find out what she likes to do. I felt like…” he trailed off again. He wanted to say ‘like a father’ but he hesitated; Paul didn’t want to scare Linda—he had informally proposed to her in the past, but she didn’t seem too keen on it. “Like there wasn’t anything else to worry about,” he finished.

His words struck a chord in Linda’s heart; she beamed back at him. Paul’s words reminded her of a proud father. He had more enthusiasm than she had ever seen. Linda suspected that Paul taking care of Heather assured him that there was more than one person in the world who liked him solely based on personality…that and the fact that Paul loved children.

Linda leaned back, her arms resting on Paul’s shoulders. “So you’d be up for taking care of her again?” she teased.

Paul moved his left hand down to Linda’s left hip. “You didn’t even have to ask,” he grinned.

Heather beamed, snuggling Kitty in her arms with delight.

Linda kissed Paul on right cheek. “Thanks,” she replied. He returned the favor, then commented “she loves you, Lin”.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she said.

“Very funny,” he sarcastically replied.

“Honestly, Paul, I know. I love her, too. I’m lucky to have her.”

A warm feeling in Heather’s chest grew as large as her smile—Mommy loved her! In her heart, Heather knew it but the confirmation made her ecstatic. She gave Kitty a kiss, pretending that he was Mommy. Fearing she would get caught, Heather tip-toed away to continue exploring the apartment jungle.

“Are we going out tonight, then?”

“Nah,” she replied, rebuttoning her misbuttoned silk pajama top. “It seems like it’s been an age since we’ve just talked,” she reassured. Paul agreed; though they had spent much time together, they hadn’t had the chance to just sit and discuss nothing in particular.


	27. Chapter 27

The following day, Paul arrived promptly at 3 PM to pick Heather up from school. She ran so quickly down the concrete steps to Paul that her red tights, yellow rain coat, red plaid skirt and green school bag practically left a rainbow trail. “Paul!” Heather exclaimed. Looking around, she asked, “where’s Mommy?”

Crouching down in his brown corduroy pants, he said, “she’s at the dentist, again, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Why?”

“Well,” he started “the dentist didn’t finish yesterday because his office got very busy. I’m here to take you home. Ready to go, then?” Heather, in passing, said ‘yes’. “So, treacle,” he said, “did you want to do some more imaginary shoe shopping today?”

“We did that yesterday,” she commented. Heather was more focused on finding every crunchy leaf around her feet. The crinkling sound they made when she stamped on them gave her a sense of accomplishment.

“What about the park? Want to go to watch the old men play chess in Washington Square? Or I can push you on the swings!” Heather continued to crunch the leaves at her feet. Paul joined in, telling her that, “there are lots of leaves to crunch there.”

Seeing that Paul was going to crush a big one, Heather’s foot rushed in to stop him. It soon became a race between them to find all the crunchy leaves. After they had run out, Paul crouched down and asked Heather “any decisions then?”

Heather thought, then shook her head ‘no’. “Can we go home?”

Disappointed, he said “alright, if you’re sure. Will you lead me home again like yesterday?”

As they walked, Paul asked Heather about her day at school. She said that, today, Miss D taught them about maps. When Heather asked where England was, Miss D showed the class. Heather insisted that it wasn’t far away like Paul said—it was only separated by a little blue ocean. Paul assured her that, though it looked close, that it took about 7 hours on a plane flying very very fast.

While waiting for the light to turn green, Heather gasped; she remembered somewhere she wanted to go. “Cross the other way! I wanna go to the candy store! I wanna see the man make fudge.”

Paul chucked. “When your mummy’s at the dentist?” he asked.

Heather grinned, shaking her head ‘yes’. Sometimes, her and Mommy watched the man in the window make fudge but they never went in there because she said it was too expensive.

 

The scent that wafted through Paul and Heather’s noses as they entered she shop was heavenly. It smelled mainly of chocolate but also vanilla, roasted nuts and, of course, sugar. Along the brightly lit store’s cherry wood shelves were glass jar after glass jar full of toffee, colorful rock candy, Jordan almonds, pralines and striped candy sticks of every color. Below each jar was a large number for ease of identification. Toward the antique register sat a colorful lollypop tree. The store was small, but packed with a variety of confections sure to please children and adults alike.

Heather focused on the portly white-haired man behind the counter, who was hard at work making fudge. She was transfixed by the way he scraped the white marble table to move the runny chocolate mixture. When he noticed Heather staring, he smiled at her but focused on the bearded, army jacket-wearing Paul. The man felt like he had seen him somewhere.

“It smells so good!” she exclaimed as her arms wrapped around Paul’s shoulders.

“Mmmm, it does,” Paul happily agreed. He nodded at the old man, acknowledging that he had placed his face.

“There’s so much chocolate! Why doesn’t it fall off the table?”

“He works very quickly—look how fast he’s going! And he has that scraper to prevent the chocolate from running onto the floor.” Noticing that the towering, young African American cashier was staring, he smiled back at him.

Lewis asked with his mellifluous tenor voice, “can I help you find somethin’?” He should probably do his job instead of just staring at the man and his daughter.

“Just looking. Thanks, Lewis,” replied Paul, reading the young man’s nametag.

Lewis returned to his post at the cash register, arranging things that didn’t need to be arranged and wondering if that man was actually Paul McCartney.

Virtual silence passed as Heather watched; the only noise was the old man making the fudge and Heather’s sniffles. Paul delighted in seeing how fascinated she was by simply watching the old man make fudge. Heather broke her spellbound silence by simply saying “wow”.

“When the man’s finished, it’ll look like that,” he said, pointing to one of the many kinds of delectable fudge behind the glass.

Looking behind her, she saw the pick-a-mix bins. She instructed Paul to put her down.

Heather skipped to the opposite side of the shop, marveling at the amount of candy in front of her. There were jelly beans, gumdrops, gummy bears, bubble gum, sour balls, Tootsie Rolls, candy buttons, hard candies, red and black licorice ropes and even licorice bridge mix, which looked better than it tasted.

Above that were rows of candy bars. She liked the pick-a-mix bins at the market because she could choose exactly what she wanted; sometimes, when she was extra good, Mommy would buy her some candy from there. But, today, the fudge was more interesting. She rushed back to the counter to see. Heather gazed up at Paul; knowingly, Paul picked her up again.

“It looks yummy. I wanna eat all of it!” she commented, watching the old man mixing and kneading the fudge mixture by the window. Heather sniffed the sweet candy shop air again.

“Careful what you wish for—if you did, you’d get a tummy ache!” Paul warned.

The man making the fudge eyed Paul again, then shook his head and went back to kneading.

Out of the corner of her right eye, Heather saw something colorful. “Look, look!” she pointed as she reached toward the marzipan fruits, pigs and frogs.

Paul’s heart jumped as he grabbed Heather, having almost fallen forward and out of his arms. “Careful, Heather,” he nervously warned. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she replied, tightening her grip on Paul’s left shoulder and back.

Paul tightened his grip on Heather, too. “I’m glad,” he said. While rubbing her back, he continued, “I know you’re excited but you’ve got to remember I’m holding you. I don’t want you to hit your head, treacle.” He then walked toward the marzipan to the right of Lewis.

“The pig is a little piggie bank!” Heather gasped. “He has money sticking out of his back! Paul, look at the fruit! Ooh, it’s a mini pineapple! I’ve never seen fruit that’s tiny.”

“Oh, they’re not real, Heather. They’re candy.”

A bit disappointed, she asked “they’re not?”

“No,” he replied.

“What are they?”

“You mean what’re they made of?” Paul clarified. Heather shook her head ‘yes’.

“They’re marzipan,” Lewis’ confident, mellifluous baritone voice cut in with a smile. “It’s a paste kinda like clay. It tastes a lot better, tho’, ‘cuz it’s made from almonds an’ sugar. The pigs are most popular. People like his curly tail. The frogs’re my favorite just ‘cuz I’ve always liked frogs. Let me know if you need help with anythin’ else, man,” Lewis offered as his confidence overtook his awe. Lewis knew that, based on his voice, actual Paul McCartney was in the shop! And because he was Paul McCartney, a Beatle, he wanted to be as helpful as he could. Other famous people had, on occasion, stopped into the shop, but Paul was definitely the biggest celebrity that he had ever seen. Why was he here and not in London? Because his boss was within earshot, he had to bite his tongue.

Losing interest in Lewis’ description, Heather, once again, focused on the man at the front of the shop making fudge, who was adding walnuts to the chocolate mixture.

“Thanks,” Paul said, carrying Heather back to the old man at the window. A middle-aged Asian man and a Swedish au pair and a young red-haired boy, who was probably the same age as Heather, then entered the shop. The middle-aged man took his time buying six pieces of fudge; he hemmed and hawed because he was looking for the perfect “I’m sorry” gift for his wife. Since the nervous husband was focused on his gift, it afforded Paul the opportunity to remain practically inconspicuous. The Swedish woman had less trouble deciding what she wanted because she had a list—half a pound of assorted hard candy and one piece of plain fudge for herself. The boy wanted to stop and watch the man making fudge but she told him they couldn’t, as they had to pick his sister up from her dance lessons.

Paul’s arm was starting to get sore but he fought through the pain to make sure she could finish watching the old man shape the mixture into a log and cut it. When he finished, Paul was glad—it meant that he could set Heather down and he could take a breather. The old man was glad, too; in a New Jersey accent, he told Lewis he was going for a long smoke in the alley and to put the fudge on the counter for sale.

“So, Heather,” Paul said, stretching his arms and back, “any decisions on what you’d like?”

“Fudge!” she declared.

Smiling, Paul commented, “I should’ve known. Which flavor?”

“Hmm,” Heather thought, sniffling again. “Can you pick me up?”

“Have you got the sniffles?” he asked, picking her up.

She shook her head ‘no’. “It smells like chocolate!” she explained. Heather carefully studied each type of fudge as Paul slowly and tiredly walked her down the counter. Her eyes lit up when she saw the kind she wanted. Pointing, she announced “peanut butter. That’s what it says on the peanut butter jar. I always show Mommy in the market.”

Though Heather wasn’t his, a surge of fatherly pride swelled inside him. “That’s brilliant! You’re an excellent reader.”

“Thank you,” she blushed then yawned.

“Can you show me what other kinds of fudge they have here?” he asked, wanting him to amaze her again.

One by one, Heather read them to Paul—plain, walnut, orange and, of course, peanut butter. She only struggled with the word ‘marble’, which Paul reassured her was a tricky one because of the spelling. Still amazed, he praised her again and gave her a pat on the back.

Paul waited by the old-fashioned register until Lewis finished putting the freshly made fudge on the counter. When he started moving toward Lewis, Heather told Paul to wait—there was a glass jar by the register that she had missed. What did the words on it say? Skipping over the first two words, her eyes focused on the one she recognized. Paul knew precisely why she was so excited.

“Oreos!”

“What kind?” he asked, anticipating Heather’s response.

“Um…the kind where you can’t see the insides.”

Not the response he was hoping for, he encouraged her to try to read the words on the jar. Paul helped her a bit with the word ‘chocolate’ but she got the rest easily. When Heather put the words together, she grinned.

“Brilliant job! You think Mummy wants some, too?”

Heather yawned again. Leaning on Paul’s shoulder, she asked, “can I have some?”

“’Course you can, Heather,” he told her.

Hearing that Paul was ready, Lewis got a small white paper bag out. “What can I get ya, Pau-uh-sir?”

Paul gave a closed-mouth smile, putting his right index finger over his lips—he could tell Lewis was a Beatle fan as soon as he walked into the shop; over time, getting spotted became a sixth sense. But, he didn’t want Heather to know who he was, as he didn’t want her to make a fuss. For now, he was happiest being Paul, the man who was taking care of Linda Eastman’s adorable little girl.

“Three pieces of peanut butter fudge, please.” Thankfully, Heather didn’t notice the verbal slip—she was too focused on watching each of the three large pieces of peanut butter fudge disappear into the bag.

Concerned, Heather asked “what about the Oreos?” Though she was excited, her eyes were growing heavy.

“And six chocolate-covered Oreos,” Paul chuckled.

“Thank you,” Heather distantly said.

“You’re welcome,” smiled Paul. He wanted to give Heather a kiss on the cheek but knew that he should wait—she hadn’t even hugged him yet.

“You want ‘em in a different bag?” asked Lewis.

“Nah, that’s fine.” Heather’s eyes followed the tissue paper in Lewis’ right hand as he placed six of the chocolate-covered delicacies into the same bag.

Placing the glass lid on top of the glass jar, Lewis asked Paul if he wanted anything else.

“Yeah,” he mused. “what’s in the orange fudge?”

“There’s, um, candied orange in it. An’ the chocolate has some orange extract.” Seeing Heather making a face, he remarked that “adults like it but not most kids.”

“Three pieces of that, too.” To Heather, he whispered “that’s a surprise for your Mum.”

“Mommy’s at the dentist,” Heather tiredly reminded him.

“She can still have sweets after.”

“Can you put me down?” Heather then began to half-heartedly browse the store again.

“In the same bag?” Lewis asked Paul.

“A separate bag, please.”

The pieces of the puzzle came together in Lewis’ head as he placed the fudge into the second white paper bag—Paul was taking care of someone’s daughter while, ironically, her mother was at the dentist. Maybe Paul was dating the girl’s mother. As a general rule, Lewis did not like children because they were too finicky; but, in Heather’s case, his heart softened—he thought she was sweet. And it was pretty groovy that a guy who was a big a star as Paul was being so nice to her.

Paul felt Heather leaning against his legs and drawing her fingers along the ridges of his corduroy pants. He knew that he better say something soon before Lewis started talking about his music. “So, how long’ve you been workin’ here, Lewis?”

Lewis was taken aback by Paul’s question. “A year an’ a half.”

“Do you ever get sick of the smell chocolate?”

“Nah, man—I don’t know nobody that’d get sick of chocolate, y’know? And, when people come in here, they feel good. It’s candy! Who could get all mad about that?! Nobody I know, at least. Everyone likes it. I mean I’d rather be smellin’ that Broadway air but you gotta eat. You know what I’m sayin’? I’m just lookin’ for that break. But for now, the smell of chocolate ain’t so bad.”

Paul stroked Heather’s soft hair with his right hand. “Do you perform around the city?”

Lewis folded the bag over and told Paul that he did backup singing at some gigs, mainly at the Apollo but also at other small clubs in the City. Before that, he was singing on the street on the street and in the subways for money. He would love to be on Broadway but, even though times were changing, it was difficult for a black actor to find a role.

“Yeah, it’s unfortunate more people don’t go to the Apollo. I’ve saw some great acts up there.”

“You went up there, man? You weren’t afraid or nothin’?”

Paul proudly stated that everyone he met was quite friendly. 

“Wow, man. Power to ya. Can I get ya anythin’ else?”

Unexpectedly, by his knee, Paul felt a tug.

“Paul?” Heather distantly asked. “I wanna take a nap. I’m sleepy.”

“Alright, treacle. We’ll get you home,” he said, looking down at Heather. Turning to Lewis, he said “that’s all, thanks. The boss wants to go home.”

Just then, Lewis’ boss walked back into the shop, eyeing Paul again. His face rang a bell. And he obviously wasn’t from here.

“That’s $12.80,” said Lewis.

Paul pulled out a twenty. When Lewis started to make change, Paul told him to keep it.

“Peace!” Lewis signaled, knowing that it would be his last bit of contact with Paul.

Paul wished him luck in his career, told him to persevere and said goodbye. Lewis waved back at him, thanking him for the advice. The old man smiled and waved to Heather.

“Wow, man,” Lewis marveled. “I think that was Paul McCartney.”

“Paul McCartney?!” questioned the old man. “That’s who that was? One of those hairy Beatles?”

“Yeah, just ‘one of those hairy Beatles’.” Lewis dismissively replied. “Man, he’s up there with Marvin Gaye!”

“Eh,” the old man grumbled, “give me Sinatra any day. Now that’s a musican. The little girl he was with was sweet, though.”

Paul carried Heather down the street until he could no longer hold her. Hand in hand, they continued their journey. He often had to wait for her to catch up, as he could tell Heather was positively knackered and, thankfully, too tired to notice that some people were gawking and, at times, pointing (though it was probably because of the contrast between their outward appearances).

Despite these distractions, Paul’s focus never swayed from getting Heather home safe. When he bent down to pick her up again, she leaned her head against Paul’s left shoulder. By the time they got home, Heather was practically asleep.

“Hello,” said a man a few years older than Paul, nodding his head while his toolbox shook. With agility, he moved onto the elevator.

Paul nodded, then pointed to the slumbering little girl in his arms.

“Which floor?”

“10 thanks.”

“Hey, we’re going to the same floor! How ‘bout that!” After setting his tools down, the man gave a one-two push—ten first, then the door to close the elevator. The elevator jolted into movement. Heather remained unphazed.

“All tuckered out, huh?”

“Mmm…” Paul agreed, tucking a lock of hair behind Heather’s ear.

“My little Joseph does the same, except he hates nap time. But once he’s asleep, he sleeps like a baby, except he ain’t a baby no more.” Extending his arm, he introduced himself loudly in a native New York accent. “I’m Anthony.”

“I’m Paul,” he replied politely, but tersely. “I’d shake your hand but…” Paul tilted his head toward Heather. “She’s practically asleep.”

“I didn’t know Heather had a father.”

“All people do, really.”

“Where ya from with that accent?”

“England.” Paul stroked Heather’s soft blond hair, hoping Anthony would be quiet for the rest of the ride, so as not to wake Heather.

“Y’know, I heard a rumor from someone that there might be a Beatle in the apartment.” Anthony chuckled. “What kind of cockamamie rumor is that?”

Paul laughed, nervously. Desperately wanting to change topics, Paul tried to think of something but his mind went blank. Fortunately, Heather stirred, groaning. “Are we home?”

“Not yet, but soon, treacle,” he whispered. “Then you can fall asleep in your bed.”

“Mommy’s bed.”

Paul shook his head. “Your bed.” Heather whined. “That’s why you have your own bed, though.” 

Anthony noisily looked for the right key on his gigantic key ring. “Whadda ya do?”

Paul sighed; this felt like the slowest elevator ride. “I’m a musician.”

“Anything I’d have heard?”

“I’ve had a few sessions that went well in the studio. Just trying to stay busy.”

The elevator then stopped on the fourth floor. A short young woman in a leotard and tights put her toe on the elevator, only to realize it was going up instead of down. “Oh, sorry!” she apologized as she adjusted the duffle bag on her shoulder.

Paul nodded at her, smiled and then pushed the button to close the door with his right elbow. ‘Just six more floors,’ he internally reasoned. Soothingly, he continued to rub Heather’s back. Off his wrist dangled the sweet surprise for Linda. 

Heather snuggled closer to Paul, enveloping her arms around him like Kitty.

‘I’m her teddy bear,’ thought Paul, smiling to himself with pride. As quickly as that feeling came, it faded.

“Seems all the kids have them long haircuts like yours. You got a Beatle cut.” Anthony jostled his tools again. “I always keep a crew cut, though. Must be my dad’s influence—he was in the military. But not me, nah. That just wasn’t for me.”

The elevator stopped. When the doors opened on floor eight, no one was there. The doors then crawled to a close.

“There’s a stopped up toilet up there I gotta take care of. I’ll tell ya, I do the same one most every month. They really need to clean up their act.” Heartily, he laughed. Again, Paul became irked, wishing that, for Heather’s sake, he would give her a quiet elevator ride.

Floor ten. Paul stepped off the cabin into the hallway. Anthony followed.

“You sure look familiar. Maybe it's the hair cut..."

"I wanna go to bed," Heather whined.

“Heather, you're the only kid I know who likes sleeping. It sure looks like you need some.” Looking around the hallway, Anthony exclaimed “and I’m at the wrong side of the building! Anyway, nice to see yas both." With a friendly wave, he shuffled off with his box of clanking tools, walking down the hallway in the opposite direction.

‘Finally’ Paul thought. ‘Silence.’

At the apartment door, he set Heather down again to reach for the key in his pocket. Heather let her head slump as she stood there with her heavy eyes. “Home,” she sleepily mumbled.

“Yeah,” Paul replied. “Come ‘ead, let’s get you to bed. You need some kip.” He took Heather’s hand and lead her into the apartment.

“But I wanna eat the Oreos,” she begged.

“Later, treacle. They’ll still be here when you wake up. Go change into your jim-jams.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, sorry,” he smirked. “Your pajamas. And when you get back, I’ll tuck you in.”

“In Mommy’s bed?”

“In your bed.”

Whining, Paul left to give Heather some privacy. Once she told Paul she was changed her pajamas, Heather practically fell into her very inviting bed.

Paul placed the covers on top of her, along with Kitty and Paddington. With her eyes half open, she asked Paul “will you wake me up when Mommy comes home?” Paul promised he would. “How’d Anthony know you?”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, he thought I looked like someone he thought he knew. That’s all,” he attempted to casually explain.

Heather settled in, adjusting the covers. Her eyelids were practically dragging themselves down. Cradling Kitty under her arm, she asked “who?”

“Probably in pictures, treacle, like the ones Mummy takes. Go on, then. Close your eyes,” he encouraged. “I’ll sit here until you fall asleep,” he promised, knowing that Linda did the same.

Within three minutes, Heather had fallen fast asleep. Proudly, he stroked Heather’s hair—he had just tucked her into bed for the first time. This is what he wanted to do every night. How could he tell Linda that?

When he proposed to her before, she said ‘no’. Linda told him that she wasn’t ready for marriage and didn’t ever want to get married again. While Paul understood her trepidation, he was prepared to continue his gently encouraging campaign for marriage. Paul’s persuasion skills were quite adept—perhaps he could gently coax Linda to change her mind. Linda was, without a doubt, the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. After another minute, Paul left Heather to nap in peace (except when the phone rang).

With Heather asleep, Paul had some time to himself. He holed himself up in Linda’s bedroom, pacing. Preoccupied, he pulled out his guitar and started to tune it. When he realized how out of tune he had made it, he gave up. He grew nervous at the mere thought of the conversation with his, dare he think it, soulmate. Linda didn’t want to uproot her life the first time she asked him so why would she do it now? Though, to be fair, Linda had Heather’s wellbeing to consider. She was a fabulous mum, so why couldn’t she do that in London? She could take photos, too. Most importantly, she would stay with him and take care of him. But what if, even though she knew how much he loved her and Heather, she said no? The room was growing hotter. Sweating, Paul struggled to open the window. The cool rush of air exponentially increased his personal space. Paul let out a long sigh and took out a cigarette. Linda wouldn’t say ‘no’, he decided—she loved him.

‘What if I just spoke from my heart?’ thought Paul. ‘Just tell her that I love her and Heather and that I can’t imagine my life without either of them…that sounds pretty stereotypical.’ Paul sucked every last puff out of his first cigarette, extinguished it and then lit another one. And another one. And another one. By the end of his time in Linda’s room, he his frigid hands added six cigarette butts to the ash tray. His head hurt from all that thinking. Opening the door, he decided to roll some grass for him and Linda to share when she got home.

A few minutes after Paul’s soul searching had ended, Linda distinctively knocked on the door. Slightly nervous, Paul pulled himself together on his short journey. Were the feelings that he thought Linda had even real? He needed to make sure, so he turned on his charm. When Paul opened the door, Linda greeted him with a smile. Paul gave her a warm, gentle kiss on her right cheek, making it difficult for Linda’s smile to fade.

“How was it?” he quietly asked.

“No cavities but I have to floss more.” As she turned to close the door, Paul noticed the skirt of her A-line light blue floral peasant dress twirl; that dress flattered her figure and her bust. “I’m ok,” she added. “I’m not sure how happy Heather’s going to be when I tell her she has to go to the dentist soon.”

“Is she scared?”

“Yeah,” Linda sighed nervously while removing her black pea coat. “It’s always a struggle. I understand why she’s scared but…it’s exhausting.”

“Can I help, Lin?”

Linda shook her head. “I don’t think so, but thank you. Whatever you do, don’t tell Heather about the appointment.”

“I won’t—I promise.” Paul leaned in, giving Linda an impassioned French kiss. “To make it better.”

Her left hand rubbing Paul’s right shoulder, she retorted, “that only works for children. Speaking of which…”

“Never for adults?” he teased as he whispered in her ear.

Linda shivered with delight, then paused in thought. “Maybe sometimes,” she relented. Paul kissed her again, this time more insistently.

‘Paul’s being extra affectionate,’ she thought to herself. She felt him release her bottom lip from between his teeth. Placing her right hand on his chest, she silently let him know that now was not the time. “Where’s Heather?” she said.

“Asleep,” he whispered. “I tucked her in. She was right knackered after our trip to the candy shop, practically falling asleep as we walked home. She even asked to leave the shop so she could take a nap.”

Linda was amused. “You went to the candy shop while I was at the dentist?”

Paul defended himself, explaining, “it was Heather’s idea.”

“Ah, passing the buck, I see.”

“Really, it was!” Paul insisted as Linda gave him a smirk. He excitedly continued, “Heather loved watching the man in the candy shop down the street making the fudge.”

Linda stood and removed her yellow Chucks, revealing her yellow socks. “Yeah, she loves watching him. She always wants to go there.”

“We went in and watched. She was practically transfixed! And she could read the labels for the different kinds of fudge, too. I was quite impressed so I got her some fudge. And I got some for you, as well. It’s your favorite—orange and chocolate. Do you want some?”

“After I’ve just been to the dentist?”

Slyly, Paul shrugged “now’s as good a time as any.”

His expression made Linda show her gleaming smile. “You didn’t have to do that Paul. Thank you. I’ll have some later. Did Heather say thank you?”

“She did. Oh!” Paul remembered. Leaning close to Linda, he told her “we also got some chocolate-covered Oreos,” with a wink.

Linda could feel Paul’s left hand on her right thigh. “Cookies and milk again?” she coyly asked.

With a contented smile, Paul shook his head ‘yes’. “I already rolled some grass.”

With her right index finger, she pushed Paul’s nose, making him giggle. Leaning to her right, Linda gave Paul a kiss. When Paul felt the kiss had ended, he started to pull back. Linda’s right hand coaxed the back of Paul’s head to continue. As their lips touched, she could tell Paul was smiling.

“You’re a brilliant kisser,” he coyly commented. The back-and-forth motion of his index finger against her jawbone made her smile.

Closing her eyes, she gave Paul another delicate kiss on his lips.

Whispering in her right ear, he asked, “how’d you get to be so good?”

Linda felt her heart fall to her uterus, then rocketed back in place—Paul had an uncanny ability to turn her on when he did that. She took Paul’s hand in hers, holding it tight. “The same way you did,” she winked.

“With girls?” he joked.

Linda chuckled. “Let me go wake Heather up,” she told him.

“Do you have to?”

“If I don’t do it now, Heather will never get up tomorrow morning when her Mommy alarm clock rings.”

Rings. That jogged Paul’s memory. “The phone rang twice while Heather was asleep. I didn’t answer it.”

“Thanks. I’ll call my answering service later.” She didn’t even have to check her messages to know who it was—Lillian.

“You’re welcome,” Paul replied. “Lin, you’ve got something on your face.”

“Where?”

“Right there,” Paul instructed, giving Linda a kiss.

Linda’s cheeks flushed. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“And it’s working,” Paul winked.

Simultaneously, Linda felt both pleased and frustrated. “I’ll make sure to schedule a kissing lesson in between cookies and milk, ok?”

Coyly, Paul smiled, then leaned in for one last, long, insistent kiss. “Ta, love,” he whispered. When finished, Linda stood there for a split second, stunned. “Alright?”

Linda gave a shy smile, still trying to internally recover. Paul brought Linda closer with his left arm. “I caught you off guard. Good to know I can still surprise you, though,” he chuckled. Taking her hand in his, he asked “really, though, love, you alright?”

“Yeah,” she quietly replied.

“You sure?”

“Heather’ll be alright, love,” he reassured, squeezing her hand.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“Sure,” he whispered. Paul brushed the hair on Linda’s right shoulder away from her face. On her right cheek, he placed an understanding kiss.

Linda’s eyes vaguely squinted as a small closed-mouthed smile appeared on her lips. Paul took it as a ‘thank you’.

“I promised Heather that I’d wake her up when her Mummy came home.”

“I’ll help you get her up,” she offered. Paul insisted on doing it himself but Linda was doubtful. “Heather’s notoriously difficult to awake.”

Paul assured her that he could do it himself. There, in her room, he found a bundle of covers with Heather’s blonde hair peeking out of the pink- and yellow-flowered quilt. Paul felt guilty waking her when she looked so comfortable and warm. The least he could do was gently coax Heather out of her slumber. Crouching next to her cot, Paul began awaking Linda’s Sleeping Beauty.

After hearing about five minutes of Paul’s struggles, Linda came to assist. Heather was groggy but awake a minute later.

“You win,” Paul conceded. As Linda stood up and took a regal bow, Paul noticed she was not wearing a bra. Playing an insistent reporter, he asked, “how d’you do it, Miss Eastman? Tell us how!”

In a mocking deep voice, she responded, “it’s a lady’s secret. I just can’t tell you.”

Paul laughed.

“Huh?” Heather dazedly asked.

“Never mind,” Linda said. “Did you sleep well, Heather-bear?”

Heather shook her head ‘yes’, then tried to go back to sleep.

Linda pulled the covers away from Heather. “No, no,” she lightly reprimanded, sitting on the bed. “What’d you do with Paul before you took a nap?”

“We went to the candy store,” Heather dazedly commented, bringing the comforting and familiar covers to her chin. “The man was standing in the window making fudge! It was fun and it smelled yummy. Mommy, they had so many kinds of candy…a hundred bazillion of them. And there were animals, too.”

“Animals?”

Paul interjected, “little ones made from, uh, what was it called?...Marzipan.”

Her muscles stiff, Heather stretched, then moved Kitty behind her head to use him as a pillow. As Paul looked down at the two women he loved, he happily noticed Paddington’s hat was resting next to Heather’s chest.

“Is Kitty ok back there?” Linda asked.

“Yeah,” Heather replied, then continued with her story as she shifted Paddington to her left arm. “There was a pig that looked like a piggy bank. And he was pink and had a curly tail.” Still tired, she yawned.

“Just like a real pig,” said Linda.

“Remember the man who mixes fudge? Paul and me watched him in the store. He kept mixing the fudge with his hands!” Though Heather had just awoken, Linda could tell how excited she was as demonstrated what the man did. “It covered the whole table, Mommy, and it was really big. I got fudge and chocolate-covered Oreos.”

“Chocolate-covered Oreos? That sounds delicious.”

Heather yawned and stretched again, then leaned toward her mother. “Paul got you a surprise! Then we left the candy store and I took a nap. Mommy, can you go to the dentist again tomorrow?”

Paul’s misaligned tooth showed as he gazed fondly at Linda; Heather had decided.


	28. Chapter 28

Heather woke up full of excitement that Saturday. She couldn’t wait for Paul to show her how he shaved! She ran to Paul’s side of the bed. Sitting on his legs, she reminded him “it’s time to shave!”

“Already?” he yawned. “Ooh, morning came fast.”

“It’s 11:15, sleepyhead,” Linda joked.

“You promised!” exclaimed Heather.

When Paul coughed, he sounded horrible as he broke up the phlegm that lay across his chest. His chest felt heavy, though that was because of Heather. “I remember, treacle. I promise I’ll shave today—scout’s honor.”

“No, now! Kitty wants you to shave now, too,” she told Paul as she gave Kitty to him.

With pride, Paul gave a smile that turned into a yawn, then another coughing fit. He took Kitty in his arms under the covers—Heather had put him in charge of her cherished stuffed animal. For Paul, Kitty felt too small but, for Heather, he was a comfortable size for snuggling.

“You look like a tiger that’s roaring,” Heather commented, itching behind her neck.

“You mean when I yawned?” Paul asked as he yawned again.

Heather shook her head ‘yes’. “When are you gonna to shave?” she insisted.

“Later, treacle,” Paul said as he cleared his throat.

“Why?”

“Paul just woke up, Heather. Let him have a lie-in,” Linda interjected. She could use one herself, exhausted from running errands and being Paul’s tour guide.

Paul turned this head Linda and smiled. “I’m rubbing off,” he said with a wink. Linda winked back.

“What’s a lie-in?” asked Heather.

“When you lay in bed after you’ve woken up,” she explained. “Don’t sit on, Paul. Here, come lay next to me instead.”

Heather refused to budge. She, instead, lay with Paddington, on Paul’s chest, listening to Paul’s strong, steady heartbeat. “I hear your heart,” she told him.

Paul ignored Linda’s admonishment. “What’s it sayin’?” Paul playfully asked. He couldn’t be happier that Heather felt comfortable enough to be this close to him. He would miss this when he was back in London.

“Thump thump…thump thump…thump thump.” Relaxed, Heather closed her eyes.

Paul laughed, “that’s what it’s supposed to be saying.” He then began to cough.

The intensity of Paul’s coughs against her ear forced Heather’s eyes to open. His coughing caused her to sit up and ask “alright then?”

“It was loud!”

“That’s because you were sitting close to me chest. Things always sound louder the closer you get to ‘em,” he explained, through his coughs.

“Are you sick? I’ll give you a check up!” Heather enthusiastically suggested.

Shifting her weight to turn toward Paul, she said “not now Heather.”

“Why not?” Heather whined.

“Because it’s a little too early,” Linda yawned.

“Nu-uh!” she protested.

“Maybe later, treacle,” Paul assured as he coughed again. “I’m just coughing ‘cause I need to smoke. I’m alright, Dr. Heather.”

Heather smiled, knowing Paul would make good on his invitation. “But when are you gonna shave? You promised!”

Coughing again, Paul then told Heather he would after he brushed his teeth and had a cigarette outside.

“Thank you.”

Handing Kitty back to Heather, Paul told her “you’re welcome, treacle. Here, take good care of Kitty and Paddington while I go outside to smoke. When I come back, I’ll show you how I shave.”

 

In his red silk pajamas and black socks, Paul stood on the cold bathroom tile. Heather stood beside him on her bathroom stool, holding Kitty and Paddington.

“Want me to hold someone?” Linda asked, standing in the doorway with her camera.

“But then Paddington won’t be able to see, Mommy!”

“I’ll make sure he can see. I’ll hold him for you.” Heather left Paddington in the care of her mother’s arms, then turned her attention to Paul.

“All ready, Heather?” Paul asked.

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, handing the bear over to her mother.

He requested Heather’s hand, squirting some shaving cream into her palm. The sound of the cream being forced out of the can made Heather giggle with amusement.

“Look,” he said, “that right there in your hand, that’s shaving cream. Take a bit on your fingers. But be careful not to get Kitty dirty. Here, I’ll hold him for you.” 

Heather felt the foamy cream between her fingers, which, initially had a fluffy, mousse-like consistency. “It feels soft and fluffy, kinda like Kitty. But then it stops being fluffy if I keep playing with it. I wanna eat it!”

Paul smirked; he found it endearing that Heather took pleasure in life’s simplest joys. “You can’t eat it,” he explained. “It’s just for shaving.”

As Heather continued to concentrate on the remaining foam between her hands, Paul quickly realized that he could not compete. Linda gave him an alluring and proud half-smile. It was obvious that both Paul and Heather got along very well. 

Embarrassed, Paul averted Linda’s gaze with a little laugh. He encouraged Heather to wash her hands. With clean hands, he returned Kitty to Heather’s arms. Heather, in turn, made Kitty give him a kiss on his cheek.

“Ta,” Paul said warmly. He then continued with his lesson. “The shaving cream helps the razor so it can have something to hold onto. You spread it where you want your razor to go. And after you’re done shavin’, it makes your skin smooth.”

“How do you shave?” she asked.

“That’s what I’m gonna show you,” he said. Crouching down, he showed Heather his razor. “This is the razor I use to shave me face. Only look, though—the blades are very sharp.”

Heather and Kitty both studied the double-bladed razor. “Paddington wants to see, too!” Paul showed Paddington, then returned to Heather and Kitty. “Paul?” she asked. “Why is the razor sharp? You said shaving doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t. Honest. It’s just like when you get a haircut. That doesn’t hurt, does it?” Heather shook her head ‘no’. “The razor is sharp ‘cause it needs to be able to cut the little hairs on me beard. Feel the hair on your head,” Paul instructed. “What’s it feel like?”

Heather ran her fingers through her chin-length dirty blonde hair. “Soft,” she decided.

Paul shook his head. “Now feel me beard. What’s that feel like?”

Heather’s right hand moved against Paul’s beard as she heard her mother’s camera click. “Um…” she hesitated. “It’s…it’s like a cactus but it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“Yeah, it’s quite rough. That’s why the razor needs to be sharp.”

“Are you gonna shave all your hair?” she smiled.

“I don’t need that much of a trim, do I?” Hearing Linda quietly laugh, he gave her a wink. “I’m just gonna trim me beard a bit. First, I splash my face with some water.”

“When are you gonna put shaving cream on?” Heather impatiently asked, standing on her tip-toes.

Paul pushed the step stool toward Heather. “I will. The water helps the shaving cream stick.” He splashed his face with the cool New York City water. Turning to look at each profile of his face, he decided where his well-grown disguise needed a trim. Noticing Linda watching him in the mirror, he gave her a smile that turned into a small laugh; in a flash, she captured that moment on her camera as well. Paul squirted the shaving cream into his right palm, making Heather smile again.

Seeing Paul spread the shaving cream around his jaw made Heather want to play with it again. “Can I do it? Please please? I wanna do it!” she exclaimed. Paul crouched down to offer Heather his right palm. He instructed her to spread it wherever there was hair on his cheeks. While he waited for his beautician to finish, he held Kitty. Occasionally, he instructed Heather where to put more. Linda could not resist taking multiple pictures of Heather happily smearing shaving cream all over Paul’s cheeks.

Admiring the finished product, Heather laughed, “you look like Santa Claus!”

“Do I?” he grinned. Poking her stomach, he whispered, “maybe that’s who I really am.” Heather shook her head ‘no’, knowing Paul was joking.

 

Ten minutes later, any evidence of the shaving cream on his face had disappeared. Paul rubbed cooling aftershave on his cheeks and onto his neck to complete the job. Always a mindful guest, he rinsed the sink of hair and remnants of shaving cream.

Seeing that Paul had finished, Heather jumped up. “Can I feel? Please?” Her fingers touched Paul’s soft, tender cheeks and then his bristly beard. Disappointment showed itself on her face, commenting, “you didn’t shave.”

“I did!” Paul insisted with a smile. “You just watched me, Heather. I didn’t shave all of my beard, I just trimmed it here.” He pointed to the area around his jaw and the area on his upper cheeks.

With Kitty tucked under her right arm, she told Paul “but it doesn’t look different.”

“I only shaved a little bit, not my whole beard.”

“Why?” Heather asked as she crossed her arms.

“I didn’t want to,” Paul stated. Giving Heather the real reason—that shaving his beard would cause mass hysteria—would only lead to more questions. Seeing that Heather was pouting, he commented, “you’ve got the sulk on.”

“No,” Heather said with a tone.

“You have,” he said. “Nothing to pout over, treacle.”

“Paul didn’t say he was going to shave his whole beard, Heather,” Linda interjected.

“But I wanted him to,” Heather whined with quiet disappointment.

“You can’t always get what you want, Heather. You know that.”

Heather sighed and gave Kitty a cuddle. “I know, but I wanted Paul to shave all his beard.” Turning to Paul, she asked him “why can’t you shave all of it?”

Bending down to look Heather in the eye, she explained, “it’s Paul’s beard and he can do what he wants with it. But he did show you how to shave just like he promised, Heather. What do you say?”

Looking up at Paul, she perfunctorily said, “thank you”.

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “You’ll get to see me shave again, Heather. Hair grows back, y’know.”

“Yeah,” Heather agreed, rubbing one of Kitty’s paws.

“When I shave again, you can watch.”

Heather tried hiding her smile. She asked, “can I do the shaving cream again?” Paul nodding his head caused Heather’s smile to exponentially grow. “Yay!” she cheered. Moving toward Paul, she gave him a quick embrace. “Thank you,” she told him.

Paul returned her embrace, taken aback at what was occurring. Linda’s little girl felt comfortable enough with him to give him a hug. Practically as soon as he settled in, it had ended.

Heather had moved onto embracing her mother, who could not help but beam her gorgeous smile to Paul. Giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek, she said, “I’m going to make some pancakes for breakfast, Heather. Did you want some with scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah! Can I help make them? Can I help pour them into the pan?”

“You can help make them but not pour them. The stove is very hot and you could get burned.”

“I’ll be careful, Mommy. Please?”

Linda shook her head. “Maybe next year, Heather.”

“Fine,” Heather pouted.

“But, first, you have to brush your teeth.” Linda ushered her daughter to the bathroom, then left.

In Linda’s bedroom, Paul tilted her chin up with his right index finger. He placed a loving kiss on her rosy soft lips. Coyly smiling, Linda returned his sentiment. From the doorway, they heard giggling. “You love Mommy,” Heather said.

Grinning at Linda, Paul happily answered, “I do.”

Vaguely blushing, Linda changed the subject. “What is it, Heather?”

“Mommy, my toothbrush fell in the trash. Can I have a new one?” Linda followed Heather into the bathroom to unwrap a new toothbrush. She stayed there to ensure Heather brushed for long enough. Insistent, Heather returned the favor to her mother. When it was Paul’s turn, they both left to gather the ingredients for their breakfast.

“Mommy, when are the Monkees on?”

Looking at the clock, she told Heather that they were on now.

“Can I go watch?”

“Go ahead,” Linda encouraged.

Paul emerged from the bathroom to see Heather on the loveseat in the living room. “You aren’t going to help Mummy make breakfast?”

“I wanna watch The Monkees!”

Sitting next to Heather, he placed Paddington in her arms. “You forgot someone,” he said.

“Oops.” Giving Paddington an apologetic hug, Heather whispered, “I’m sorry”. In return, she had the bear give her a kiss on the cheek.

Paul and Heather sat, watching Peter try to get his soul back from the Devil. She quickly realized that the Monkees’ hairstyle was similar to Paul’s; she then began running her hands through Paul’s hair.

“What’re you doin’?” Paul asked.

“Your hair looks like a Monkee!”

Paul guided her hands down from entangling his locks. “You mean like ooh-ooh-AH-AH-AH?” he asked, making monkey sounds.

“No, silly,” Heather smiled. “Like them!” she pointed at the television. “Your hair looks like Michael.”

“You think so?” he grinned. Heather nodded her head in agreement.

“And you sound like Davy.”

“He’s from England, too.”

“Do you know him?”

“No,” Paul giggled.

“Do you know how to play Monkee’s songs?”

“I can learn,” Paul said, cracking his knuckles. “After we help Mummy clean up with breakfast, we’ll sing one together.”

 

As Linda tucked herself into bed, Paul guided her body toward his. In the dimly lit room, they lay facing each other, snuggling. Linda noticed that Paul was breathing deliberately. Stroking his beard, she looked into his eyes, which seemed to have worry. In the back of her mind, she tried to determine what was bothering him.

Paul’s heart thrashed as he leaned up to give Linda a kiss. “Leaning over me like that makes me want to kiss you,” he grinned.

Linda smiled back, returning his kiss. “That beard has served you well here, Paul. Nobody knows who you are.”

“Most of ‘em don’t but a person or two in the building might be onto me. I’ve gotten looks like ‘…is it?’”. Paul realized that time would be coming to an end when he went back to London.

“Is this your first vacation in a while that you haven’t been recognized?”

Paul nodded his head ‘yes’. “For the most part, yeah. People think I look like someone but I haven’t gotten mobbed or anything. I can live like a normal person, like before I was a Beatle.” Linda cuddled beside him, making her feet fit amongst Paul’s. “It’s been brilliant, Lin. I love me job—it’s…it’s not even a job, really. It’s more like a hobby that turned into something that I get paid for. I feel very lucky, but…it’s nice to be anonymous.”

Linda’s heart warmed. “You like living a normal life, don’t you?” she asked with intrigue.

Paul nodded his head again. “I really do. It reminds me of growing up. Sometimes, aunties or uncles would come over. They’d bring me cousins, too. I’d play with ‘em and we’d have a great time.” Shrugging, he added “I guess it just makes me happy.”

“I’m glad I could do that.”

“You always do, love. I’m falling more and more in love with you every day.”

Linda blushed, closing her eyes with simultaneous joy and embarrassment.

Paul felt Linda’s body release its tension. He desperately wanted Linda and Heather to come with him, but that would mean uprooting their lives here. It wasn’t fair to them but Paul would miss them both terribly. “it’s true, Lin.”

“I know,” she whispered with a romantic sigh.

Paul placed his hand behind Linda’s neck as his lips caressed hers. He could feel her smile grow immediately, causing him to smile as well. When their lengthy, tender kisses ended, Paul gave an almost ethereal hum of satisfaction as he stroked Linda’s neck. Paul’s touch was kind, as always, though she could tell that something was not quite right.

“I feel like…it’s almost…I love spending time with Heather.”

“I can tell,” Linda beamed as she clasped his hand. “Heather feels the same. She even gave you a hug today.”

“I know,” he smiled, his heart thrashing. “I didn’t expect it!” Should he ask now? Was now the moment? Should he wait?

As she lay next to Paul, though Linda heard faint whisps of the bustle of the city, her ears were mainly filled with Paul’s breaths.

Maybe they could move. Linda, understandably, seemed hesitant to come to London the first time; Heather had just started school.

“What’s wrong?” she asked empathetically.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m alright, love.” Now? Should he ask now?

Linda sat up, doubting Paul’s response. “Paul,” she started, her head slightly cocked.

“Hmm?” he asked.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Just daydreaming.”

“But it’s nighttime,” Linda smarted.

“Night dreaming.”

“That’s redundant.”

“Alright,” Paul chuckled. “What should we call it, then?”

Linda shrugged. Paul laughed. They cuddled in silence. As he lay there, he realized that it should be now. His thumping heart began to thrash.

“Lin?” his voice trembled as he clasped her hand; Linda did the same. “Lin, would you and Heather come back to London with me?”

Linda sat up. Her pajamas suddenly felt very hot. Though she had a feeling this would happen, a part of her was in shock.

Paul’s heart felt like it was on the verge of bursting. The only thing he could think to do was to fill the sluggish silence. “You staying with me in London was perfect. I never wanted it to end, love. You…you filled me house with laugher, love, warmth…not to mention wonderful smells. You made me house into a home! I was gutted…”

“On one condition,” Linda interrupted, holding back a smile that was trying to peek its way through.

‘Uh oh’ thought Paul.

“I don’t want to get married. Paul.”

Nodding his head, he looked Linda straight in the eye and told her “I know, Lin. I know how you feel and I wouldn’t ever force it. I wouldn't want you to be unhappy. Being together with you is enough.”

Linda’s smile broke from behind the clouds. “Yes. Absolutely yes.”

Though his breathing returned to normal, Paul’s head and heart were in the clouds for the rest of the night. Until they fell asleep, they both were unable to stop grinning as they kissed and giggled with the anticipation that they would be spending the foreseeable future with each other’s best and most trusted friend.


	29. Chapter 29

Heather sat beside her mother on the love seat, curious about why Mommy wanted to sit with her instead of finishing her handwriting homework and playing before bedtime. She set Kitty in her lap and cautiously waited. Sitting in front of her, Paul flashed a friendly smile to reassure her.

“Mommy, I wanna play.”

“Paul and I wanted to talk a little bit.”

“Why?” she asked as she took Kitty in her arms to give him a hug.

Looking at each other, Paul and Linda smiled with excitement and anticipation; Paul held Linda’s hand and squeezed it. “A few weeks ago,” Linda began, “I went to England to stay with Paul.”

“Mommy, are you leaving again?”

Linda rubbed Heather’s tense back, assuring her that she was not leaving again. “Want to sit next to me?”

“When Paul and I spent time together, we became close friends. And, then, we started to love each other.”

“Just like you love me?”

“Exactly,” Linda smiled. “That’s why I came home. I missed you, Heather.”

Heather gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. Leaning against Linda’s left arm, she said, “I missed you too, Mommy.”

Linda returned Heather’s kiss. “After a little bit, I had to come back to be a Mommy. But Paul didn’t want me to leave. And there was a part of me that didn’t want to leave either. I missed you very, very much, but if I left Paul, I’d miss him lots, too.”

Paul chimed in. “When she was in England, your Mummy talked about you quite often. And, whenever she got off the phone, she got a little sad. I could tell how much she loved you. When your Mummy said she wanted to go back home to take care of you, I wasn’t surprised. But I was quite sad. So, I convinced your Mummy to let me go back to New York with her.”

“That way, we could spend more time together. And I could also spend time with you,” Linda smiled. Still concerned, Heather leaned against her mother more; the touch and warmth of Mommy’s body somewhat eased her worries. “But, now, Paul is the one who has to leave.”

“Why?”

“I make music in London and I also help other people make music there, too. Me mates and I have to record more songs.”

“But you make music here.”

“Well, yes. But I have to go back to London to record the songs.”

Heather’s eyes sunk as she met her mother’s eye line. Everyone she loved had to leave—it wasn’t fair. “But I don’t want you to! I’ll miss you, Paul.” Bending down, she and Kitty moved to give Paul a hug. “Why can’t you just stay?”

“Because I have to go home to do me job, treacle,” he told her as he returned her embrace.

Heartbroken, Heather told him, “I don’t want you to go. It’s not fair!”

There was a part of Paul that felt the same. Going back to England meant going back to being hounded by the paparazzi and to the fighting amongst the group. Paul knew that he would make the best of it and that having Linda and Heather there would help. But not having the pressure of being in a Beatle bubble was a refreshing change.

Patting Heather’s back, he told her “I think what your Mummy is going to tell you might make you feel better, though.” Seeing that Heather was giving him a look of doubt, he asked, “would a kiss make you feel a little better, treacle?”

Heather shook her head yes.

With pride, Paul placed a small kiss on her cheek. He couldn’t help but give a smile; Heather finally felt comfortable enough to allow him to give her a kiss. There was now a part of him that truly felt like Heather’s daddy.

“Alright?” he asked. Heather remained still in his arms. “Listen to Mummy,” he assured. “Mummies always know what to say to make it better.”

Heather returned to her place on the love seat, leaning against her mother. Gently pushing the errant strands of hair out of Heather’s face, Linda told her daughter that she and Paul both felt the same. “Every time we think about saying goodbye to each other, Paul and I become very sad.”

Distracted, Heather scratched Kitty’s cheeks. “Because you love each other.”

“That’s right,” Linda responded. Suddenly, she felt Paul’s hand clasp hers. Momentarily, he squeezed it, as if to say ‘I can’t wait’. Fondly, Linda smiled back at Paul then Heather. “That’s why we’re going to go back to England with Paul.”

Heather’s frown quickly turned into a broad smile. “Paul’s not leaving?!”

Linda shook her head ‘no’ as she beamed. “We’re leaving with Paul. We’re flying out with him on Halloween.”

Her smile quickly fell. “I’m not gonna get to go trick-or-treating?”

“Maybe a little. We’re going to leave that night for England.”

“When are we coming back, Mommy?”

Reluctantly, Linda said, “I’m not sure, Heather.”

“Why not?”

Nervously, Paul interrupted; he wanted to ensure that Heather thought of this news as something wonderful. “You and your Mummy are going to come live in me house in London. And my dog Martha and my kitty cat Thisbe are going to be there, too! I know how much you love kitty cats, Heather. You’ll like Thisbe. And Martha’s quite friendly, too. I’ve never seen them love anyone so quickly.”

Paul’s attempt at reassurance did not help. “Mommy, are we ever gonna come back? And what about grandpa and grandma? And Uncle John? And Angela?”

Unsure herself, Linda chose to carefully skirt the question. “We’re going to take it one step at a time, Heather. We want to see what it’s like to live together in London.”

“You already did that.”

“But you weren’t there, Heather,” Linda smiled.

“Yeah,” Heather muttered. “Is Kitty allowed to come? Is Paddington?”

“Of course, Heather. You can take some of your toys with you. But we have to pack you some clothes, too.”

“Can we take Oreos and peanut butter? Paul said that they don’t have them in England.”

Heather’s request made Paul to laugh. “We’ll ship over a whole crate of Oreos,” he joked.

“Mommy, when are we coming back?” Heather asked again.

“I’m not sure, Heather-bear.”

“Are we going to see the Christmas lights?”

Linda hesitated. Knowing what that meant, Heather let out a subtle gasp. “Mommy, no! That’s my favorite!”

“There are Christmas lights in London,” Paul reassured. “There are trees full of decorations. We can have a big, tall Christmas tree with beautiful lights. We’ll decorate it any way you like. We can even go out and see all of the lights all around the city. I’ll be lovely.”

“Mommy, I’m gonna miss it here!” she whined, ignoring Paul. “I don’t want to go! I’m gonna miss everything. I’m gonna miss you picking me up from school, taking the train with you, playing in Central Park…and grandma and grandpa, pizza from Mimi’s, Angela, Miss D…” she woefully explained as she looked toward her blue socks on the dingy ivory carpet.

“Heather-bear,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand “I know a lot of things are changing at once. I know it’s a little scary but I’m here.” Leading her closer, Heather eventually sat in her mother’s lap. “No matter what, Heather, I’m gonna make sure you’re ok. I always do. And Paul said that he’d show you all the Christmas lights in London. What do you say?”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, treacle. I understand how you feel, though; London’s very far away. But I promise that we’ll celebrate. Christmas is me favorite holiday—the songs, the decorations, the pressies.”

Heather began to smile.

“…the family…” Paul added. Heather frowned. As soon as the words left his mouth, Paul realized that he had misspoke.

Linda looked at Paul, lowering her eyes. Disappointed in himself, Paul turned away.

Putting her hand on Heather’s shoulder, Linda assured “it’s ok to be sad, Heather. I’m a little sad, too. I grew up here. But we’ll come back here. I absolutely promise that; grandpa and grandma live here. So does Uncle John. And Angela…New York isn’t going anywhere, Heather. It’ll stay right here for us to visit.”

Heather rested her head on her mother’s shoulder while her thoughts and emotions rollercoastered. Linda brushed the hair from Heather’s eyes. “Your hair is getting so long, Heather-bear, especially in the front. Maybe I’ll give you a hair cut soon.” ‘And some check ups, too’ thought Linda.

“Will I get to say goodbye to grandpa and grandma? And Uncle John?”

“Of course.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “I promise. We couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” Heather settled into her mother’s torso, closing her eyes. Linda brought Heather closer to her, half for the comfort of her daughter, half for herself. Explaining this to her father was not going to be an uphill battle. With John’s support, it would be easier, though still a daunting challenge.

 

Linda informed Heather that, after lunch on Wednesday, she would be taking her to see Dr. Lee.

“But I’m not sick!”

“It’s just to make sure that you’re healthy before we go to England.” Linda carefully omitted that she wanted to ensure that Heather had all her shots before she went.

“Are you getting one, too?”

Feeling a tingle in her nose, Linda paused, and then sneezed twice into the right elbow.

“Bless you,” said Paul.

Turning to Paul, she said “thanks”. Then, to Heather, she said “no, sweetie, just you.”

“You sneezed, Mommy. You’re sick.”

“Just because you sneeze, doesn’t always mean you’re sick,” she explained.

 

Linda and Paul walked to Dalton on the perfect autumn day—sunny and cool with an occasional gentle breeze. They had each taken turns snapping pictures using Linda’s faithful Nikon.

When they arrived at the steps, Linda saw a sea of mothers, nannies and children. Most were excited, however, there was one tall, sullen, chunky boy named Tommy who was being reprimanded by his mother. Linda recognized him as the loudmouthed troublemaker from Heather’s class. Heather’s teacher, the curly black-haired Miss D’Annunzio, followed closely behind them; after the crowd cleared, Linda saw a cheerless Heather holding Miss D’s hand.

Linda’s heart ached. Bending down, she asked “what’s wrong, Heather-bear?” Heather stayed quiet, averting her mother’s concerned eyes.

Robin let mother and daughter have their moment. She politely smiled at Paul, who nodded his head. He was more concerned about Heather’s wellbeing than playing the PR-friendly Beatle. What had upset Heather?

“Linda, would you mind if we had a moment alone?” tentatively asked the normally sunny Miss D.

Linda nodded her head. She let go of Heather and, in a friendly voice, explained, “Miss D and I are gonna go talk. I’ll be back soon. Paul’ll play with you while you wait for me.”

“No, Mommy! Stay here,” Heather begged, pulling Linda’s arm.

“I can’t, Heather. Miss D wants to talk to me alone for a few minutes. Paul will keep you company, ok?”

Heather vigorously shook her head ‘no’. “Let me come with you, Mommy. Please? Please? Please? Please? Pl…”

Linda firmly interrupted “no, Heather. I need to talk to Miss D by myself. Wait with Paul and I’ll be back soon.” As Linda walked away from her daughter, she knew precisely why her daughter was so reluctant to stay with Paul; someone must have said something about him to her. Mentally, she was already preparing herself for how she was going to tell the last bachelor Beatle. Paul, however, already suspected that he was the reason behind Heather’s sudden change of heart.

Heather watched her mother walking up the steps. She stood beside the railing on the other end, hiding from Paul by covering herself with her black pea coat. Heather did not want to be around anyone right now except for her mother.

Paul kept his distance, standing on the opposite side of the steps; generally, he left her alone but, once every few minutes, he would make sure she was still there. 

Back in the classroom, Linda took the seat she was offered. Their conversation started with friendly chit-chat, then rapidly shifted tones to what Robin was loathe to tell Linda. She had called parents into her classroom before, but never for a situation like this.

Seeing Paul and Heather’s mutual affection when he came to pick her up made it all the more difficult; Tommy took a unique situation and turned it into something to hurt a little girl that Robin had come to know as nothing but kind, intelligent, shy and sensitive.

Robin informed Linda that a boy in the class, Tommy, had teased Heather for not having a father. When Heather told Tommy that Paul was her daddy, Tommy mocked him for having a funny accent. After apologizing to Heather, he was punished by missing recess and then apologized to Heather for his actions.

Robin had heard the teachers and mothers gossiping about Linda; she certainly didn’t look the part for sending her daughter to such a high-class school. While they derided her choice of profession and her rumored frequent male companions, the thing they ostracized her for most frequently was being a single mother. The older teachers seemed to spread the nastiest rumors—that Linda was an unfit mother who didn’t love her daughter and that she should be given away to a family who had a stable home. Knowing her opinion would be unpopular, Robin, instead, just listened. She knew the other teachers were wrong—in the brief time that she had known Linda, she seemed like a caring and devoted mother who loved her daughter unconditionally. Heather certainly loved her back. For someone who came from a broken home, Robin was amazed at how emotionally stable Heather was. She couldn’t deny, however, that Linda was not setting a good example of a healthy family life for Heather by being a single mother. Paul did seem to be very good with her daughter, though.

Linda drew into herself, concentrating on her emotions as she fiddled with her Nikon camera. Why did people have to care so much about the way other people lived their lives? Much as she didn’t want the attention, Linda would have to get used to it; Paul had warned her that people, particularly the press, would, eventually, say some hurtful things about their relationship once they could no longer deny it. Never one to care what other people thought, she paid it no mind; deep down, she knew this was the beginning, rather than the end, of public comments. She had never even considered that one of Heather’s own classmates would tease her about her family.

How was she going to explain this to Heather? Though it might be difficult to explain to her, it would be more difficult to do so for Paul.


	30. Chapter 30

Linda opened the apartment door with her key. Rubbing Heather’s back, she led her forward with her right hand. Heather began to walk to her room but Linda stopped her, helping to remove her coat. “How ‘bout some Oreos and milk?” Linda asked. Heather shook her head ‘no’. “Want to play a game? Or I can read you a story!” Again, Heather shook her head ‘no’. In a low voice, Linda asked, “do you want to talk?”

Heather defensively shook her head. “Mommy, I wanna go to bed,” she whined.

“I’d really like to understand, Heather.” Taking her daughter’s hand, she assured, “we can talk—just you and me.”

Releasing her mother’s concerned hand, Heather vigorously shook her head ‘no’.

“Do you want me to tuck you in?”

Looking down at the carpet, Heather sadly requested that she wanted to be by herself.

Linda grimaced as her heart broke; she wanted to help Heather get better but Heather would not let her. Concerned, she soothingly asked, “want me to help you get into your pajamas?”

“Noooo,” Heather stubbornly whined.

Hearing the frustration and impatience in her daughter’s voice, she relented. “Sweet dreams, sweetie pie,” she told her daughter with a kiss as her left hand grazed Heather’s soft black Dalton sweater.

Heather disappeared into her partitioned bedroom, casting off the uniform in which she had been teased. Slipping under the covers with Kitty lifted her mood. She forced herself to close her eyes and go to sleep to dull and, hopefully, forget, what happened this afternoon.

“She’s still upset, Lin. Why’d you let her go to bed?” whispered Paul.

Linda set her yellow pea coat on the love seat. “Because she wanted to be alone,” she stated. Not wanting to discuss this when Heather was within earshot, she took Paul’s hand and led him to her bedroom.

Closing the door, Paul asked, “but don’t you want to know what happened?”

Linda chose her words carefully. “I can tell she wants to be alone right now,” she explained, toying with her blonde locks. “So I’ll let Heather sleep and when she gets up…” Linda trailed off as she sighed. “…we’ll see. She’ll feel better.”

“It’s difficult to just let her go, eh?” Paul asked Linda as he clasped her right hand.

“It is,” she said, looking away from Paul as her heart thrashed. Linda couldn’t help but feel guilty even though she was not directly involved. “I’m gonna make a cup of tea. Do you want one?”

“No thanks, love. Not right now.” Paul crossed to the door, slipping his right hand into Linda’s left. “You talked to Heather’s teacher. Do you know what happened?”

Linda swallowed. “Well,” she sighed. “I haven’t heard it from Heather’s side.” Before Paul could eke out another comment, she told him that she was going to go make some tea.

Not being one to give up, Paul followed her into the kitchen. When Linda was turning the stove’s dial, he put his arms around her waist and placed a sweet kiss on her left cheek. Holding Linda’s left hand, he began to rock her back and forth. “Want to dance, love?” he whispered in her ear.

“Not now,” Linda dismissed. She tried to release herself from Paul’s hug but he wouldn’t let her go, making her heart heavy and her body tense. Linda turned off the stove, deciding that she didn’t want tea, as the kettle’s whistle would disturb Heather.

“What about your tea, then?”

“The whistle might wake Heather. I’m going to go change into my pajamas,” she stated, in the hopes that Paul would let her go. At least, that would give her some time to think.

The lovestruck look from Paul’s face became one of disappointment. “Oh,” he casually remarked. “Something wrong then?”

“No, no,” Linda said dismissively.

Paul was doubtful that Linda was telling the truth, but gave her a modest smile and let her change in private. While Paul waited, he sat slumped on the love seat. He drifted through his sea of thoughts in between cigarette puffs. While waiting, his heart ran a marathon; if Heather found out who he was, there was a good chance that she would treat him differently.

Linda emerged from the bedroom in pajamas that Paul had never seen her wear. The cotton red paisley pajamas flattered her figure with a buttoned Edwardian-collared top that was so long it could have been a mini dress. Combined with the matching bellbottoms, she looked beautiful.

“Are those new?” Paul asked.

Linda put her index finger over her lips, reminding Paul to be quiet.

“Oh, right,” he whispered. Paul moved over to give Linda room to sit. “You look beautiful, Lin,” he complimented. Paul figured that, since Linda was not herself right now, a compliment couldn’t hurt.

“Thanks,” she conservatively replied.

Awkward silence passed. Linda knew that she had to tell Paul. Heather would want to know why she was being teased…and that was impossible without telling her who Paul was. Linda was well-aware that, to Heather, he liked playing the role of the British man who was nothing more than a good friend of her mum’s.

Paul broke Linda’s train of thought. “Are you worried about Heather?” he asked, taking short, nervous puffs of his cigarette.

Though she wanted to comfort Heather, Linda realized that, in the end, her daughter would be fine; it was Paul she was concerned about. “Yeah,” Linda sighed, knowing what question would come next.

“What happened?”

‘Bingo,’ Linda thought as she grimaced. Procrastinating the subject of who Paul was would not make the issue disappear. Linda realized that, had she met Paul when The Beatles were still working together as a team, it would not have mattered as much. The fights and power struggles about which she heard rattled Paul’s confidence more than he would admit. Though he could small talk with anyone from the secretaries at the Apple office to the milkman, he rarely let anyone in to know the real Paul. Linda was fortunate to be one of those people, largely because she saw him as a person, not as “Beatle Paul” (which Paul, himself, referred to as “him”).

Being in New York these past few weeks relaxed and liberated Paul; he could live like he had before he became internationally famous. Though he didn’t necessarily crave anonymity, Linda could tell that he did not want to be “on” all the time. Back in London, he stressed to Linda that he longed for, at times, a normal life; part of what intrigued Paul about New York was that its residents were, for the most part, self-involved and in a hurry.

To say that Paul had a soft spot for Heather was an understatement; Paul doted on her, treating her like he would his own daughter. If not for Paul’s fear of frightening her, he would have told her he loved her long ago.

Clasping her right hand, Paul leaned in and asked “alright?”

Linda broke the embrace their hands held, motioning toward the bedroom. Paul quietly closed the door behind them, then lit another cigarette as he paced.

Deciding to rip the band-aid off all at once, she told Paul “Heather was teased.”

Paul placed his cigarette on the side of the ashtray. As he paced, he ran his hands back and forth through his hair, distracting himself from what he did not want hear.

“One of Heather’s classmates, Tommy, kept teasing her. He was making fun of Heather for not having a father.”

“That’s awful, Lin. You’re a wonderful mum!”

“Thanks,” Linda sighed. “But I expected this to happen. I didn’t want Heather to go to Dalton but my dad insisted. He wanted her to ‘grow up right’ and ‘have a good education’. I thought she could get a good education just by going to a public school. But my dad wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t see what the difference is other than the parents and children being of a different class. Heather was going to learn how to read and write either way. The mothers all gossip and say mean things about me because I’m a single mother—I don’t feel like I belong there. Heather doesn’t either.”

“Can’t you tell them to shove off?”

“What they say doesn’t matter…I mean, it hurts but I have to let it pass. It’s not like I’d be friends with most of them anyway—their values all seem to involve something about money or possessions, neither of which interests me.”

Paul frowned. Linda was such a warm, generous and caring person—how could anyone not love her?! “Then tell your dad you want Heather to go to a regular school. She’s your daughter, Lin.”

Running her hands through her hair, Linda sighed again. “Because, Paul…what if he’s right?” she hesitantly asked. “My dad’s a smart man and a self-made man. I don’t respect some of his personal choices but I still trust him. He came from a poor family and worked and worked to get into college. He got into Harvard Law. It doesn’t mean anything to me but it means something to him. He gives sound advice, even if I don’t always take it. And, he took me in when I came back from Arizona after I divorced Mel…but he also told me in not so many words that I had to move out. Though, at the end of the day, Paul, he’s still my dad.”

Paul sat on the bed and lit a cigarette, unsure of what to say; Linda was usually so sure of herself. He decided to change topics. “Do you think that Heather doesn’t want to talk to me because of what Tommy said?”

Uneasily, Linda agreed, also mentioning that Tommy teased Paul because his accent sounded like a Beatle. Carefully, she omitted that Heather had called Paul her daddy; otherwise, Paul would get ideas again.

Pressure swelled in Paul’s chest. The smoke that filled his lungs did not curtail his worries as he looked out the window. ‘Another one down,’ he thought. ‘Linda’s the only one who doesn’t see me as him.’ He was unable to think of something to say, as his mind was so clouded with thoughts that he did not know where to begin. Paul took refuge on his side of the bed, quietly lying there while smoking.

Catastrophizing, Paul gave into the torrent of worries that made his mind scream. What if Heather knew who he was now? That aspect of the situation was no longer under control. He felt badly for Heather but, mostly, sorry for himself that he could not make any relationship work without someone discovering who he was.

Linda lay next to Paul, who cuddled beside him in silence. Offering her his cigarette, she took a few puffs, then set it aside in the ashtray on her nightstand. Hearing Paul breathing heavily, she stroked his dark brown hair. When her right hand rested on his right temple, she could feel his pulse racing.

Suddenly, Paul rolled off the bed and reached for the top drawer of Linda’s mahogany dresser.

“No,” Linda admonished, taking his right hand. “Not now.”

Ignoring her, he continued to reach for rolling papers and the pot. “I need it now. More than ever,” Paul reasoned. “You look like you could use some, too.”

“Paul, I can tell you’re upset. We can smoke later but, right now, we have to talk about this.”

Paul glared at Linda. “I don’t want to talk! There’s nothing to talk about. I mean, I can’t change it, can I?!” he defensively roared. Swallowing the knot of emotion in his throat while biting his lip, he continued “it’s just…the pot relaxes me, alright?! You know that. I…to clear me thoughts’d…I need it, so, I’m going to smoke. Just lay off.” Knowing he was on the verge of crying, he sniffled while holding a ball of emotion in his throat.

Though frustrated, Linda was not deterred. She explained, “everything is magnified when you smoke. The pot might make it better for a little, but then it’ll get worse.” 

Paul’s anger couldn’t mask his worry. “IT WON’T! You can’t tell me what to do!” he yelled.

Linda ignored Paul’s immature attitude. Placing her right hand atop his left, she continued, “what happened isn’t your fault…it’s not. And, you’re right—you can’t change what happened to Heather. I can’t either. It’s in the past. But you can help her feel better by talking to her, like I will, too.”

“What could I possibly say that would make it better? ‘I’m famous and that’s why people made fun of you. I understand because that’s what I hear every day.’”

“Stop being facetious,” Linda crossly told Paul. “And that’s not what Tommy said! He just said that you sounded like a Beatle, not that you were one.”

“You don’t understand. Of all people, I thought you’d understand, Lin,” he pointed with accusation. “You’re the only person besides John, George and Ringo who don’t treat me like him. Heather didn’t treat me differently because she didn’t know who I was. And now that she does, that’s all just come crashing down! But, to you, that means sod all!”

“That is a lie, that is such a lie and you know it!” she said tightly. It took a great deal of restraint for Linda to not yell, as Heather was asleep in the other room. Being awoken to yelling would not only frighten Heather but also make her feel guiltier.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Paul!” Linda honed her anger while letting her verbal slap-in-the-face roll off her tongue. “You have a right to be upset. I know how much not losing touch with reality means to you. And I know how much you want to lead a normal life. In London, you always liked helping me fold the sheets, giving Martha a bath, putting the dishes away…”

Hurt, Paul turned away, biting his lip.

Linda, however, would not step down from her soapbox. “You don’t think that I’m hurt, too? That Heather as gotten made fun of because of a personal choice that I made?! I don’t need a husband to make my life complete. Heather doesn’t need a father. I live my life the way I want and I don’t need to defend my choices to anyone. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, Paul. Don’t think for a second that you’re the only one.” Linda paused for a moment, fully aware of what she just said after seeing Paul cringe. Furious, Linda would not stop. “At least, accept the profession you chose has its drawbacks, which includes invasion of privacy. The paparazzi are a nuisance and the fact that they make money off of peoples’ dirty laundry, scandals and suffering is pitiful. Like it or not, that’s how it is. That’s what I accepted when I committed to this relationship. That’s what I accepted when I invited you back here. I thought long and hard about the fact that, if we dated, even for a day, that my privacy would be invaded!” Linda breathed heavily, letting her irritation dissipate. With pointed determination, she added “but, then I remembered how much I enjoyed spending time with you in Los Angeles. We could really talk…about music, art, photography, life…that boat cruise on the harbor…It was different and it was…it just meant…it was so effortless. It wasn’t a put-on, it…The more I thought about saying ‘no’ to coming to London, the more I didn’t want that to happen. My dad…I told him I was taking more pictures in London but he saw through that. Heather was in good hands so I didn’t care about his opinions. Heather practically begged me not to leave but I went because…going was the right decision.”

Hands in his jean pockets, Paul felt ashamed. He never realized or considered how hurt Linda was and how much she sacrificed for him and their relationship. Still, he chose to pretend to remain angry.

“If we go back to London…Paul, if we go back to London, Heather’s going to wonder why all of these reporters are hanging around outside. I hate having to say that because invasion of privacy shouldn’t be a concern for any 5 year old. It shouldn’t even be in their vocabulary!” she exasperatedly seethed. “Heather knows that I take pictures of musicians, some of who are famous. She’s heard their music and interacted with them when they came over to have their photos taken, but really only on a cursory level. It didn’t matter to her that they were famous!—she doesn’t even know what that means! To her, the people she met were just people. To Heather, you’re just…you’re not ‘Paul of The Beatles’, you’re just ‘Paul’. Heather finding out who you are won’t make her treat you any differently. Like it or not, Paul, Heather has to know. Otherwise, she’ll be more confused.”

“What do you mean ‘more confused’?”

Uneasy, Linda drew her finger along the stitching of the pink flowery quilt on her unmade bed. “When Tommy teased Heather for not having a father, Heather said you were her daddy.”

The thrill of Paul hearing that Heather had called him ‘daddy’, his eyes widened and he grinned broadly. “She did?!”

“Yeah,” she perfunctorily confirmed. “But, that’s not the point.”

Paul’s eyes sank, becoming cross. “How can you say that?! It’s an important one! Heather called me ‘daddy’.”

“Right now, it’s not the issue at hand, Paul.”

“Fine, it’s not important then,” Paul resentfully mocked. Pacing, he lit another cigarette to distract himself. Once again, he returned to the window to watch the daylight dissipate and hear the noise from the street. Finally, he turned around, heatedly asking “I mean, can’t you just…can’t you…I mean, just tell her that it’s not her fault and that’s it. According to you, she only has a mummy. She doesn’t need a daddy. Why’s she have to know about me? If she doesn’t know what famous means, then why even tell her?! You’re dead wrong, Lin. Shows what you know!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Paul! And don’t tell me how to raise my daughter!”

“What tone?!” he callously questioned.

“That one!” Linda accused. “You have a right to be upset but don’t take it out on me!”

“You’re the one who’s misinterpreting me!” Paul’s thick Liverpudlian accent shouted as he pointed at Linda. “And I’m not telling you how to raise Heather.”

“I’m not pulling the wool over her eyes, Paul. She has a right to know!”

Throwing his arms up in frustration, he crossly stated, “about your situation—not mine because it doesn’t matter! I’m not her daddy!”

“ **IT DOES!** ” Linda insisted. “And just what do you mean by ‘my situation’? Being a single mother is a choice, Paul. My choice. If you can’t deal with it, then maybe you should think twice about this relationship.”

“ ** _PISS OFF!_** ”

The silence that stood between them pushed them further apart. Without another word, Paul left the apartment. Had Heather not been asleep, he would have slammed the door. Standing on the fire escape, he lit another cigarette while watching the sun rapidly set. Paul looked down at the street below; the New Yorkers were all bustling about, unaware that a Beatle was casting his sullen gaze at them. Linda stayed in her room, erratically wavering from ire to sadness. They each took the time to stew in their own thoughts—Paul in anger and Linda in reason.


	31. Chapter 31

After two cigarettes, Paul crept back to Linda’s drafty apartment. Before he returned to Linda’s bedroom, he checked on Heather. Normally, seeing her brightened his mood, no matter how sunny—Heather exuded nothing but sincerity, curiosity and happiness. As he looked at her sleeping, he noticed how unhappy she looked, even with Kitty tucked next to her.

His throat dry, he gulped. Paul knew he had said some very hurtful things to Linda, even vilifying her choices as a parent. By extension, he had also hurt Heather. Embarrassed, he stood there trying to come up with any explanation or excuse; his well had run dry. Paul wondered if he had just destroyed the only thing that had brought him true joy these past few weeks. He had to find a way to apologize, if there even was a way to do so. He decided to start with Heather, who looked cold. Paul pulled her blankets up to her shoulder, which Heather promptly shrugged off. Dejected, Paul left for Linda’s bedroom.

At opposite ends of the room, they each pretended the other did not exist. Linda wiped the accumulated dust on her dresser with her hands and folded some clothes she meant to put away ages ago. Paul savored yet another cigarette while his heart palpitated. What could he say to Linda besides ‘I’m very sorry’? He would get on his hands and knees to beg her for forgiveness. Why couldn’t someone, anyone, take back Tommy’s words about him being a Beatle so things could stay the way they were? The smoke from Paul’s cigarette errantly drifted in her direction, causing Linda to sneeze.

“Bless you,” said Paul out of force-of-habit.

“Thanks,” disinterestedly replied Linda. The ‘s’ of her reply seemed to reverberate around the room. Soon, the awkward silence continued.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Paul said, “I’m sorry, Lin. I said some things that were…I can’t believe I said some of those things. I shouldn’t have told you how to raise Heather and I shouldn’t have said that you should just tell Heather she doesn’t have a daddy. I can’t believe how much you do all on your own—you take Heather to school, cook, clean, do the washing, do the shopping, play with her, take her to the park…you do everything for Heather, not just because you’re her mummy but because it’s out of the kindness of your heart. And, then, you do your photography! All on your own. You do everything on your own. You work so hard, you never complain and you always make time for Heather. Always. Heather doesn’t need a daddy because she has a wonderful, devoted mummy who does the work of more than two people.” Paul took a puff of his cigarette, then continued. “These past few weeks with you have practically knocked me off my feet. You’re kind, compassionate, a brilliant listener, intelligent, funny and, most of all, a true friend. My best friend. I love you with all my heart, Lin. I don’t know what came over me earlier. I didn’t mean any of it—Heather’s very, very lucky to have you as her mum. If I could take all of what I said back, I would. Can you forgive me? Please?” With tears welling in the corner of his eyes, Paul impatiently waited. To distract himself, he sniffled and rubbed his right eye.

Silently, Linda handed him a tissue. “Ta, love,” he smoothly said. “Can we make up, Lin? Can we work it out?”

Linda stared back at Paul, contemplating. “You said some very hurtful things, Paul. I’m still angry.”

“What can I do to make it better, love? I’ll do anything to make it better. Anything.”

“Why did you say all of that?”

Paul stood there thinking. To fill the silence, he said, “I didn’t mean any of it. Honestly, I didn’t.”

Shaking her head ‘no’, Linda said, “that doesn’t explain why.”

“I was angry and scared and I took it out on you. I was angry that Tommy made fun of Heather. I was angry that what you said about the paparazzi was right. I was angry that you were right about telling Heather who I am. I was angry that…” Paul held his tongue, not wanting to start another row. “I was angry, Lin. And I’m sorry.”

Nervously, Linda swallowed. “You were angry that I said Heather didn’t need a daddy.”

Paul looked surprised. Knowingly, Linda gave him a pained smile. As she took his hand, Linda began “I owe you an apology, too. I know how much bonding with Heather means to you. I belittled that and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hidden that she called you ‘daddy’ because that’s a huge step. I know how worried you were about not getting along with Heather. I was sure she would adore you…and she does, Paul. I can’t say that I’m surprised because you’re easy to bond with and you love children—I figured that when you kept asking about Heather but I truly believed it after I saw you play with Julian.” Linda paused, then continued “but, now, it’s almost too much. I kept hearing ‘daddy’ and it…it brought back all those conversations about marriage. That’s all I could think about when I heard that Heather had called you ‘daddy’.” Head in hands, she anxiously shook her head ‘no’. “I love you, Paul—you’re considerate, passionate, funny, smart, talented, kissable…but…”

Paul grimaced. He knew what was coming next.

“But I can’t marry you. I don’t want to get married again.”

“I’d marry you in a heartbeat,” he reminded her.

“I know,” she wistfully smiled. “That’s another thing I love about you, Paul—you’re patient.” Linda stepped closer. “I’m thankful you and Heather have become so fond of each other.” Pulling Paul close, Linda stood in a strong embrace with her head resting on his left shoulder. Gently caressing his right cheek, she gave him a kiss on his left. “I’m thankful that you and I have become so close, too. I’m sorry for all those things I said, Paul.”

“Thank you, Lin,” he said with a sigh of relief and a warm, subtle kiss. “I’ll wait for you.”

“You’re going to be waiting a long time,” she told him with a hint of regret.

“I don’t care. There isn’t anyone I’d rather spend the rest of me life with,” he assured, squeezing her right hand. With a hint of a smile, Paul gave her a kiss on her lips. Time and comfortable silence passed.

“What’re we going to do, then?” he quietly asked. “I know we have to but I don’t want you to tell Heather.”

“Not telling Heather won’t wash your hands of the situation,” Linda cautioned. “Right now, more than anything else, Heather’s upset and confused. She doesn’t know why someone would make fun of her for not having a dad and for making fun of someone she loves. Heather needs help figuring out the situation and the emotions she’s feeling. She’s only five years old!…almost six, actually.” Sighing, she reassured, “just because I tell her doesn’t mean that we have to make a big deal of it. Overall, who you are isn’t important. But she has to know, Paul, especially if we’re going to London. Having the constant presence of gatebirds is only going to lead to more questions.”

Paul sat on the bed and lit a cigarette. Never having smoked this much in such a short period of time, he coughed vigorously. He then drew a few long drags from his cigarette, rhythmically making small puffs of smoke. In his heart, Paul knew Linda was right. The time had come to reveal his identity to the little girl he loved and adored. “I don’t want to do it,” he reminded Linda. “What if she gets all shy again like she did when she first met me?”

Linda shrugged “she might, but only for a little.”

“I can’t take that, Lin! I just can’t. I like the way things are now!” Throwing his hands up in distress, he explained “Heather’s happy spending time with me. She’d barely even look at me when we first met. But now we do all sorts together—picking her up from school, going to the candy shop, reading to her, drawing with her, laughing with her…” His head in his hands, he moaned, “I don’t want things to change.”

Linda sat beside Paul and asked “what are you afraid will happen?”

“That she’ll…” Paul paused. His fears streamed through his head—that he would not get to play with her, read with her, joke with her, tuck her in bed, that she would hate him. Overwhelmed, he put his head in his hands. “Everything, Lin. Everything.”

“Like what?”

Seeing that his cigarette was nearing its end, stood up to stamp it out. Mindful to not light the curtains by the window, he lit a fresh one. “I just…like when you first left me with Heather. She was frightened and she missed you loads. But then I told her what I loved about you and she realized that she loved those same things about you, too…we bonded because we both love you,” he explained while looking Linda in the eye. His memories dampened the embers of his anger, causing him to move closer to Linda. “And after that, we went shoe shopping and she let me pick her up. And, then, we just…we grew closer—playing with her, tucking her in, coloring, singing, picking her up from school, watching me shave…I love all of that! I love her. I love her as much as I love you,” he smiled. “But, then, when you told me that she was teased at school because of me…” Paul shook his head and exhaled a deep sigh. Sitting on the bed, he continued, “I felt bloody awful about that. That was all my fault. Nobody should do that do her. She didn’t deserve any of it because Heather’s such a sweet little girl. When we were waiting for you, she didn’t even want to look at me!!” Paul drew a sigh again. “I mean, Christ…it was…I was like a horrible stranger that she shouldn’t talk to,” he gasped. “That was right painful to see someone you love just hiding from you! But I…I couldn’t…it was awful ‘cause I could tell something was wrong. And she didn’t even want to talk about it with you—she just wanted to go to bed. I think I even heard her crying. And that was all because of me! Me.” Ashamed, Paul looked down at the carpet while tracing aimlessly with his left foot.

It pained Linda to see Paul so depressed—he was blaming himself for things that he could not control; his actions reminded him of what happened to her when Heather was a newborn. Empathetic, Linda gave him a warm embrace. Paul gratefully hugged back.

“When Heather was first born, I was happy but, gradually, I became less happy. I started worrying about her a lot. And I blamed myself for everything bad that happened to her. If she got sick, it was because I wasn’t taking care of her well enough. If she cried, it was because she was sad or scared…or hungry; but, really, it meant that I didn’t love her enough. If she was angry or had a tantrum, it was because I did something to upset her,” Linda began to croak. Short of breath, she paused. Letting out a small weep, she let a tear drop onto the carpet as she paced the room.

“People used to come up to me when I was running errands and coo over Heather. All of the women all said some version of the same thing—that motherhood was the best and most fulfilling experience of their life and that I had so much to look forward to,” she exasperatedly told Paul. “And I’d just…just stand there, politely listening but not believing them at all. I didn’t understand it. Every single thing I did with or for Heather felt like an incredible struggle. I should have been happy—Heather was healthy and she was my daughter! But, instead, I felt sad and confused, like I was drifting. I’d felt like that before but never when there was someone else depending on me.”

Paul looked at Linda, dumbfounded and saddened. Linda was an incredibly capable mother—how could she have ever felt like that? “That must’ve been terrible, Lin. Just awful and horrible. You just had this lovely, gorgeous baby and all you could do was worry. I can’t imagine you going through all that—Heather’s so kind and sweet. And she loves you with all of her heart and so do you. Lin, you’re a wonderful mum! You’re so together and you always know exactly what to do for Heather. I know all mums worry about their children but…” Paul trailed off.

“I was worrying all the time,” she began to explain as she paced the room with a tissue in hand. “All the time—before I went to bed, after I left Heather with a babysitter, when I went to work…it was overwhelming. And some days, I didn’t want to leave my bed.” Linda sighed as she wiped the tear running down her cheek. This was a rare moment for her—since Paul, who was at a crossroads in his life, seemed to need support, Linda took it upon herself to be the strong, encouraging one. Revealing this to Paul not only helped him feel better, but her as well. “Sometimes all I could do was cry. There wasn’t a particular reason…some days, I just woke up feeling sad.”

Those words hit Paul close to home. That was what he had been doing all over England when he was with Francie. Telling Linda she didn’t understand couldn’t have been further from the truth. Paul’s chest held not only sorrow but regret for his hasty, hurtful words he shouted at Linda. He opened his mouth to speak, but could not think of anything to say besides ‘I’m sorry’.

Linda interrupted his intentions, continuing “but, after a while, I just got tired of all that. I was so tired of being unhappy. A friend in Arizona invited me to come to their photography class. Initially, I didn’t want to go because I thought it was going to be about very technical things and it was only going to be criticizing students’ photographs. But the teacher, Hazel Archer, showed photographs and the class discussed them. And she encouraged people to take photos and bring them back to the next class. I didn’t have a camera but she told me to borrow one, get a roll of film and take pictures. It was marvelous! The class was fascinating and Hazel was a great teacher; I loved her passion. She had such a positive energy about her. The class was something that I looked forward to each week. It made me a different person because it was something I loved doing. Nothing else mattered! I hadn’t felt that free since I was on a horse. I could just take my camera and go. Go anywhere. I started to put my energy into that instead of being sad. There were still times that I felt sad or wanted to cry, but, overall, I was much happier. I didn’t plan it like that, but, after it happened, I realized how much I needed it to happen. But it took a long time.” Wiping her eyes, she continued, “being a mother became easier after I became happier. But it also came with experience. I learned that if Heather fell, she wouldn’t break into a thousand pieces. She would probably cry, she might skin her knee or her elbow, but if I gave her a hug, a kiss and a band-aid, she felt better. If I left her with a babysitter, she would still be happy to see me when I came to pick her up.”

Linda threw her tissues in the trashcan, then sat next to Paul. “All those things you said about how Heather crying was your fault and all your worries about her not liking you any more reminded me of me. Going through that was horrible—I felt helpless and useless and miserable for so long. I never want to go back to that and I would never, ever want you or anyone else to feel like that. You can’t control everything that happens in life. Being a mother taught me that lesson more than once. Sometimes, children get teased. It’s not your fault, Paul. It’s not.”

Paul pulled Linda close, cradling her lower back with his hands. He, quietly and plainly, stated, “you’re right. You always are.”

“I don’t I want to be right, Paul. I just want what’s best,” she explained honestly.

“But what you want makes sense. It seems like the best way to do it.” Paul sighed, giving Linda a tight squeeze while rubbing her back. He could tell Linda was uncomfortable.

Putting his hand on Linda’s shoulder, he asked, “are you alright, love?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to figure out how to have all of this make sense to Heather, especially about Mel and I. When I met him, he was nice but, in hindsight, he was controlling. Mel was a real Hemmingway-type. One day, he decided that he wanted to move to Africa. I didn’t…and that was the end. It was pretty convenient because I wasn’t happy. I rushed into it.” Biting her lip, she continued “I needed something after my mom died. How do you explain that to a 5 year old?”

“Tell her that…that…” Paul coughed, stalling for time. “You’ll find a way to explain it.”

Politely, Linda smiled, then suggested that Paul wash up and collect his thoughts before she awoke Heather from her self-enforced solitude.

Paul’s smile faded. “You sure things won’t change?”

Linda frowned “well…no.”

Paul paused, then asked “how do you know if it’ll be alright?”

“Because I’m always right,” she quipped with a wink. Reluctantly, Paul gave a closed-mouthed smile. “Just think about the things that you do together and the way she treats you. She always wants to spend time with you. You’ve played games, walked home from school, watched cartoons, eaten Oreos…she adores you.” Seeing that Paul was grinning, Linda continued “treat Heather like a screaming fan. When they approach you, you say to them ‘If you stop screaming, we can chat until I get to where I’m going. But if you start screaming again, I’m leaving.’ Usually, they want to talk. They’re nervous initially but, after a minute or two, they calm down and treat you like a normal person. If you don’t make being Beatle Paul a big issue, she won’t either.”

“Genius, love,” Paul complimented with a kiss.

Smiling, Linda pushed Paul toward the bathroom and said, “go wash your face, Paul. It’ll make you feel better.” 

Playfully, Paul pushed her nose, telling her “got your nose, love.”

Insistently, Linda gave Paul a kiss full of tongue. “Got your tongue,” she winked.

“Got your heart,” he tenderly whispered in her left ear.

Brimming with happiness, Linda nodded her head ‘yes’. Running her finger along his left jaw line, she whispered back “me too.”


	32. Chapter 32

Linda entered Heather’s bedroom carrying a box of tissues. Her daughter’s Dalton uniform was strewn about. Crouching down, she collected her black skirt and stockings. When reaching for Heather’s white collared shirt, Linda noticed Paddington lying upside down in the corner. Picking him up, Linda stared at his friendly face. Turning around, she saw Heather sucking her thumb and cuddling with Kitty. Her face, normally contented, instead was tear-stained and wincing.

Crouching on her knees, Linda adjusted the covers and gave Heather a kiss. To her surprise, Heather rolled toward her, almost as if she was aware of her mother’s presence. Carefully, Linda pulled Heather’s thumb from her mouth. Soon after, Heather opened her eyes.

Heather looked up to see her mother sitting next to her bed, wearing a look of concern. Feeling a smidge better, she exhaled through her nose. She then glanced around the small space and, lazily, rubbed her eyes.

“Hi, Heather-bear,” she quietly spoke. “How do you feel?” Instead of giving an answer, Heather squeezed Kitty against her chest. Reading her daughter’s face, Linda could tell she was all at sea. “Want to sit up?”

Heather shook her head ‘no’ and closed her eyes. Shifting Kitty in her arms, she rolled onto her right side. Linda rested her left hand atop Heather’s mussed hair and gave her another kiss. “Heather-bear, you’ve gotta get up. Otherwise, you won’t be able to get to bed tonight.” Waiting a few seconds, she then added, “Miss D said some very nice things about you when I talked to her. She told me how wonderful a reader you are and how smart you are. And she also told me how brave you were today. I’m proud of you.”

Her comforting words touched on a nerve; Linda saw a tear stream down Heather’s right cheek. Silently, she offered her a tissue. Heather wiped her face, then closed her eyes to force more tears out.

Concerned, Linda sat on her cot and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Heather let out a short, quivered breath then began to sob. Saddened, Linda placed a kiss atop her daughter’s blonde hair, then patiently waited. From the other room, Paul tried to ignore Heather’s wails.

After a few minutes, Linda asked if Heather wanted to wash her face. She wimpered, then took another tissue and shook her head ‘no’. “Mommy, I have a headache,” she complained as she took irregular breaths.

“It’s probably from crying but it might also be because you’re hungry. You didn’t have a snack today.”

Heather cuddled with Kitty, hiding her face with her left hand. “Yeah, I’m hungry,” she said as she rubbed the center of her forehead. Hearing that Heather was still not breathing normally, she took some deep breaths with her daughter.

“That’s better,” she said, gently parting her daughter’s hair from her face. “Still hungry?” Hiding her face, Heather shook her head ‘yes’. “I’ll make you something. Come on—let’s go to the kitchen.”

 

In the kitchen, Heather hoisted herself up onto the counter. Intently, she watched her mother get the peanut butter and a glass of milk from the refrigerator. Milk filled a glass set beside her. When her mother gave her two Oreos, she gave a little smile.

“How’s Kitty?” Linda asked as she cut an apple.

Heather bit into an Oreo. “Sad,” she said with her mouth full.

Looking at Heather, she asked “why?” Linda saw Heather turn away as she gave Kitty a kiss. “It’s ok you’re upset about what happened at school,” Linda reassured her daughter.

“I’m not!” she objected defensively.

Frowning, Linda knew she had to move on. She spread some peanut butter on an apple wedge and handed it to Heather. Linda then did the same for herself.

 

After spreading the last apple slice with peanut butter, Heather jumped down from the counter. Forcing her mother’s hand into hers, Heather led her back into her bedroom. Once in bed, Heather wrapped her blankets around her and then began shoveling her snack into her mouth.

“Slow down, Heather. One piece at a time,” Linda said gently. Once she saw Heather slowing down, she asked “good, huh?”

Looking down, Heather nodded her head ‘yes’. As she finished chewing, she hugged Kitty. Nervous, she did not want to discuss the elephant in the room; Paul and her mother’s yelling had frighteningly awoken her from her pained, self-imposed slumber. While Heather was pretty sure Mommy was not mad, discussing such a volatile and upsetting topic did not excite her.

“Want a sip of milk?” Heather leaned forward to grab the glass but Linda shook her head ‘no’. “Put Kitty down first. I don’t want it to spill.” Reaching for Kitty, she said “here, I’ll hold him for you.”

Heather pulled away from her mother and vigorously shook her head ‘no’. “I wanna hold him, Mommy!”

“Ok, ok,” Linda relented. Careful to not knock the milk, Linda arose from her spot on the floor to sit next to Heather, who practically had Kitty in a headlock. “How ‘bout a hug?”

With her chest toward her mother and her chin resting on her shoulder, Heather savored their embrace. Linda silently hugged her daughter as she rubbed her arm; concerned, she noticed how much easier her daughter could be emotionally shaken lately. In certain situations, compared with how she acted before Paul’s visit, she acted infantile now. While Linda realized that, in the past few weeks, there had been many changes, she wondered how many of her actions were because of him.

Meanwhile, in the bedroom, what Paul had heard from eavesdropping made him very worried; Heather seemed quite defensive, much like when she had a tantrum after she first met him. Desperately trying to ignore those thoughts, he began to rapidly chain-smoke his cigarettes as he paced.

Back in Heather’s bedroom, Linda exhaled, then soothingly began, “when you were a baby, sometimes, you’d fall asleep in my arms…just like this. And then I’d lay you down in your crib to sleep.”

“You remember when I was a baby?”

“Of course, Heather. I remember feeding you, changing you, dressing you, playing with you…I even remember when you were in my tummy.”

“Really?” Heather asked with eager curiosity as she pulled back from her mother. “I don’t remember any of that, Mommy.”

Linda laughed a bit; her daughter’s sense of humor appeared at the perfect time. “That’s normal, sweetie—I don’t know anyone who remembers when they were in their mommies’ tummies or being a baby. They weren’t old enough to remember. But I remember all that about you. You were always very happy when I ate apples, peanut butter and anything sweet. Even then, you had a sweet tooth.”

A bit of happiness had returned to Heather’s face. Scratching Kitty’s head, she asked, “How’d you know I was happy? You couldn’t see me smile.”

“I could feel you kick your arms and legs at the same time.”

“Mommy, that sounds angry.”

Linda shook her head. “No, I knew you were happy,” she said, stroking Heather’s hair. “When you were unhappy, you’d only kick your legs. And the kicks were stronger.”

Heather marveled at what her mother had just told her; so did Paul. “But how’d you know that, Mommy?” she asked again.

“That’s part of a Mommy’s job.” Linda continued “every once in a while, when I put my hands on my tummy, I could feel your tiny hand push back from inside. You could tell that my hand was there, so you pushed back to say ‘hi’. I couldn’t wait to hold that little hand.”

Elated yet bashful, Heather hugged her mother tightly. She then gave Kitty a kiss.

“Better, huh?” Linda whispered. She could feel Heather’s head nodding ‘yes’. Pleased, she gave her a kiss on the cheek. Linda then reached down to give her daughter her glass of milk. “Two hands, Heather-bear” she instructed. Heather took a large sip, then held the glass in her lap. She knew what was coming next.

After seemingly endless seconds, Linda asked, “what happened at school?”

Heather’s heart leapt with fright. Turning away from her mother, she bashfully and quietly told her “Miss D already told you.”

Her hand on Heather’s back, Linda gently reminded her daughter “that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it from your side.” Heather shook her head ‘no’.

“You can tell me, Heather. You can tell me anything.”

Pensive, Heather felt her eyes filling with tears. As she concentrated, one slid down the right side of her nose, landing at the corner of her mouth. She wiped it away with a sniffle.

Hunching down, Heather gave her stuffed companion a thoughtful hug and some scratches behind his ears, calming her. She then began telling her mother that, today, Miss D taught the class about families. She learned about grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles and cousins by filling in a family tree worksheet that she had in her bag. “I drew pictures of everyone, too. It’s in my book bag, Mommy. I want you to see.”

Linda returned with the worksheet. Sitting next to Heather, she pointed out all of the people she drew pictures of. “Mommy, Uncle John’s your brother. And grandpa Lee is your daddy and grandma Monique is your mommy.”

“Uncle John is my brother and grandpa Lee is my daddy, but grandma Monique isn’t my mommy. Your grandma’s name was Louise. She was my mommy.”

“Oh yeah. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok, Heather. You would’ve liked her and she would’ve liked you, too.”

Cautiously, Heather asked, “do you miss her?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh. Feeling Heather lean close, she put her arm around her and continued, “I still have some things that she gave me for Christmas—the pink and gold blankets that you sleep with, the quilt that I sleep with and my white fluffy bathrobe that you love. Whenever I use any of those things, I think of her.” Linda chose to end her comment at that; she did not have many memories of personal interactions from her mother, as she rarely saw her.

“Am I making you sad?”

“No, sweetie pie, but that’s very considerate of you,” she reassured. Pausing, she carefully studied the chart; each family member had their name written under their face. “Look at your pretty portraits, Heather! I love them. Is this one me?” Heather nodded her head ‘yes’. “I like it very much, especially how you drew my hair.” Next to her, she noticed a portrait of a man, under which it said ‘Paul’. Though concerned, she decided that she would bring it up later.

“So, you were in class drawing pretty pictures of the people in your family...and then what?” Wary of Heather’s emotions and sudden movements, she placed the glass of milk on the floor, pushed toward the apartment wall.

“I had to draw my meteor family—mommy, daddy, brothers and sisters. But I don’t have any brothers and sisters. It’s just me and you, Mommy.”

Linda smirked. “I think you mean your immediate family. Your ‘immediate family’ are the people who are closest to you. That’s who mommies, daddies, brothers and sisters are. What are those people called again?”

“Im…im…can you say it again?” Seeing that her mother was giving her a look, she added, “please?”

“Im-me-di-ate. Immediate.”

Heather, successfully, repeated the word.

“Very good. Then what happened?”

Heather frowned as she remembered the unpleasant memory. Self-conscious, she began to speak quickly and with panic. “Tommy said that I couldn’t draw my daddy because I didn’t have one. And then I told him that Paul was my daddy and I drew a picture of him and then I showed Tommy but…but Tommy said that Paul wasn’t my daddy and I said that he was. He said Paul talks funny and sounds like a Beatle and he tried to talk like him and…Tommy kept saying, ‘you don’t have a daddy! You don’t have a daddy!’” Holding Kitty in an unintentional chokehold, Heather buried her face in his. She gasped, then sobbed “Tommy said I only…I had a…a mommy because I…I made Daddy run away because…because he said that my daddy didn’t love me…and then…and then Miss D yelled at him and made him apologize. Miss D took me in the hall and I cried a lot.”

Overwhelmed and crushed, Paul quietly closed the bedroom door. He could not believe that he could have made Heather feel that dreadful. He didn’t even want to think about how horrible Linda felt.

Linda held Heather as she vociferously wailed her sadness away. Silently, Linda fought back tears of both guilt and anger. She began composing herself as she rubbed Heather’s back. When she gave her a kiss, Linda felt Heather shiver. The questions that percolated through her mind had a stale perfume—could this relationship with Paul last? Could Heather accept the stress of it? Could she? For once, Linda felt as lost as Heather.


	33. Chapter 33

After handing Heather the last of the tissues in the box, Linda went to grab another. Patiently and with a heavy silence, Heather waited with her faithful companion.

With a forced smile, Linda returned with a fresh box of tissues. “You ok?” she asked with concern.

Unsurprisingly, Heather shook her head ‘no’. Heather looked her mother in the eye, asking, “did Daddy really leave because of me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Heather’s nervousness dissipated. Scratching Kitty’s back, she asked “then why?”

“Daddy and I wanted different things, Heather. He wanted to go to Africa to study rocks and minerals because he was a geologist. That’s what a geologist does—they study the history of the earth. And they study how rocks and minerals formed the way they did. A lot of scientists think that the world started in Africa. Daddy wanted to go there to study. He said ‘I’ll go and then, after you have Heather, you can both come stay with me’. But I didn’t want to do that. Daddy and I were fighting sometimes.”

“Because of me?” Heather interrupted.

“Not because of you at all. Daddy and I were fighting about other things. Adult things. Daddy and I were fighting here and we wouldn’t stop just because we went somewhere else. I didn’t want to move to Africa because I wanted to raise you right here. And that’s what I did.”

Seeing Heather dart her head from side-to-side and even looking under the covers, she asked “what are you looking for?”

“My milk.”

Linda handed it to her, reminding her to use two hands. “Thank you, Mommy.” Heather took a sip of cool milk, refreshing her.

“Does daddy love me?”

Linda felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. While she had fully expected Heather to ask the question, she could not think of what to say. Unsure, she decided to fib. “After you were first born, I sent Daddy some pictures of you and he wrote me back, telling me how beautiful you were. Whenever he wrote, he always asked for you.” ‘The three times he did in the past five and a half years’, she thought to herself.

Heather shifted her weight to be closer to her mother, hugging her.

“Mommy, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Heather,” she said with a kiss. “But…Heather, Paul’s not your daddy. Paul’s my friend.”

Heather sighed, “I know, Mommy. I just said it to get Tommy to stop making fun of me.”

“But what you told Tommy wasn’t the truth. You know it’s not right to lie.”

“I know,” Heather mumbled. With a hint of guilt, she repeated, “I thought it would make him stop.”

Linda shook her head ‘no’. “Usually, if you try to fight back with someone who is bullying you, that only makes them tease you more. The next time Tommy teases you, I want you to not say anything to him. Just walk away.”

“That’s so hard!”

“I know, Heather. I know,” she encouraged. “I got teased when I was your age.” Linda began telling Heather the story of a girl in her elementary school, Ruthie, teased her because of how she dressed outside of school. Linda told her daughter how much it hurt because she and Ruthie used to be friends. At first, Linda defended herself to Ruthie, which was exactly the reaction for which she had hoped; Ruthie wanted to see Linda get frustrated. But, then, the maid (which, for Heather’s sake, she changed to grandpa) gave her advice—ignore her. If she didn’t react to the taunts, eventually, Ruthie would stop. “Do you think you can try to walk away the next time?”

Reluctantly, Heather agreed.

“I’m proud of you, Heather,” she said. “This same goes for, Tommy,” she said. “He’ll stop teasing you. It’ll just take time, that’s all.”

Looking at her mother, Heather frowned. “But I want him to stop now, Mommy.”

“Just be patient.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But sometimes, you have to. And this is one of those times, Heather.”

Drinking her last sip of milk gave Heather a few seconds to think. “Why’d Tommy make fun of me?”

Linda explained that it could be any number of things, but, most likely, it was because Tommy liked her.

“Like Paul likes you?”

“Maybe,” Linda smiled as she nodded her head.

“Paul’s not mean like Tommy.”

“No, he’s not,” Linda conceded. “Sometimes, when people are younger, they don’t know how to express their feelings. It could be that Tommy likes you but he doesn’t know how to say it.”

“He should just say ‘I like you’ or ‘you’re nice’. That’s what a nice person would say. But Paul would say it with an accent.” 

Linda smiled at Heather’s comment about Paul’s accent.

“Mommy, I like the way Paul talks.”

“Me too, Heather. Now, the next time Tommy teases you, what are you going to do?”

“Ignore him and not say anything mean.”

“Exactly.” Shifting her tone, Linda wanted to remind her daughter “you know all those things Tommy said aren’t true.”

“Yeah but they really hurt.”

“It’s no fun to be teased. But you’ll see—it’ll stop before you know it.”

“Before England?”

“It could.”

Silently, Heather remained unsure; Mommy never lied but, now, she couldn’t imagine Tommy not teasing her before they left for England. In thought, she petted Kitty’s comforting fur as she held him against her chest.

“Mommy, does everyone in England sound like Paul?”

“No. Paul’s from Liverpool, which is up north. People who are from somewhere in the south, like London, sound different.”

Heather scratched her head with her right hand. “Have you ever been to Liverpool?”

“I haven’t. I’ve really only been to London and Scotland. Paul and I visited his farm up there.”

“How do you know Paul, Mommy?” Heather asked as she searched for her milk glass on the floor. Taking a sip, she noticed that the milk had sat for so long that there was a ring of where the milk she drank once rested.

“I took pictures of him back in England.”

“Can I see them? You said you’d show me.”

“Sure,” Linda beamed.

Heather followed Linda to the bookshelves, containing a mess of books, stacks of photos, photographs and nicknacks. Some of the books were stacked vertically instead of horizontally. Where nothing rested contained a thin film of dust.

Taking her glass of milk, Linda set it on the small ledge. She did not want her pictures getting wet.

As Linda shifted piles to uncover the box that held her treasured memories, Heather glanced around at the framed pictures. There was one of grandpa and a woman kissing. “Mommy, who’s that?” she asked, pointing on her tip toes?

“That’s grandma and grandpa.”

“That doesn’t look like grandma.”

“That was my mommy.”

Feeling badly for her mother, she gave her a hug.

“Thank you. I’m ok, Heather,” Linda gently laughed. 

Digging through the piles on her floor, she set things aside, building a small fort around her. Her rummaging uncovered a photo about she had long forgotten. Linda’s eyes squinted as she grinned at the picture of the woman who was proudly clutching a little girl in her lap.

“Oh!” Linda exclaimed. “I can’t believe it!”

“What?”

“That’s grandma and I,” she reminisced as she crouched beside her daughter. Grasping the yellowing black and white photo, she continued, ““We were going to her friend Janice’s anniversary party. Ugh,” she scoffed “I couldn’t stand going to all of those society parties. Sometimes, other children were there but I didn’t have the same interests as them. I would have rather been outside.”

Seeing her mother’s enthusiasm, Heather leaned toward her mother, clutching Kitty.

“I must have been about six,” Linda remembered, unable to wipe the smile from her face. “That was Mom’s favorite dress of mine. I couldn’t stand wearing dresses. I would always get them dirty, which would make grandma very annoyed.”

“Just like you do when I get my uniform dirty.”

“Exactly,” Linda smirked. “But grandma didn’t have to clean it. We had a housekeeper for that.” Looking at the picture again, dumbfounded, she shook her head. “After grandma died, I asked grandpa if I could have the photo. That was one of the pictures he kept in his office. He had pictures of all of us in there—I think he even has a picture of you now. I thought I lost it forever. Thank you for helping me find it, Heather-bear.” 

As Heather felt her mother place a kiss on her cheek, Heather looked down and closed her eyes in joy and embarrassment. “You’re welcome, Mommy-bear.”

After placing it on the ledge of the bookshelf, Linda recommenced her rummaging until she found the photos from her first trip to London. Together, they sat on Heather’s bed. A pink blanket covered them both. The first pictures were some of the last that she took on her first trip to England—the ones of The Beatles at the Sgt. Pepper release party.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=28vtw6x)

“Mommy, those are the Beatles.”

“Very good. That was taken at the release party for the album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in London. I really wanted to take photos of the Beatles so I went to see their manager, Brian. I dropped off some of my photos at his office and, later on, I got a call back from their office, telling me how much he loved my photos! He even bought one of Brian Jones, who is the drummer for the Rolling Stones. He even invited me to go to the Beatles’ album party. I was one of the only people that got to go. I was very very lucky.”

“Where are they sitting?”

“On Brian’s doorstep. The party was at his house.”

“His door says 24 on it.”

Linda nodded “that’s part of his address.”

“Mommy, John’s coat is furry.”

“It is,” she giggled.

“It looks like a polar bear. What’s Paul saying to John?”

“I don’t know, but it looks like John is listening intently.” Linda flipped to the next photo.

As she stroked Kitty’s familiar fur, Heather’s mind clouded with thoughts. Paul’s face looked familiar. A few days ago, she read a tag on his guitar he always played—the tag read ‘Paul McCartney’ and an address in London. Paul sung a lot of Beatles songs, too. He sounded just like the man on the record! She remembered something Tommy had said to her in class—Paul sounded like a Beatle. Though she was familiar with the word, until now, it did not register. Suddenly, she gasped. Meeting her mother’s eyes, she asked, “Mommy, is Paul a Beatle?”

Simply, Linda replied with an honest “yes.”

Heather cuddled with Kitty, processing what her mother had just told her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“Because it didn’t matter,” explained Linda. “I wanted you to meet Paul and see him for his personality, not that he’s famous and not that he was a Beatle. And that’s what you did! You didn’t do that with other people who came over here because I didn’t make it a big deal. Just because they’re famous doesn’t mean they’re different.”

Heather looked puzzled, stroking Kitty’s fur from head to tail. “What’s famous?”

“Famous means someone is well-known,” Linda explained.

“Like The Beatles?”

“Yes.”

“If someone’s famous, are they on TV or in newspapers or magazines or on the radio?”

“They can be on all of those or only some of them.”

“Mommy, Paul’s famous. He’s on TV and in newspapers and magazines and on the radio, too.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What if Paul’s on TV when he’s here?”

In the other room, Paul sighed with relief. Though Heather knew who he was, the enormity of who he was or his fame was something she was still quite confused about. Perhaps Linda was right—Heather wouldn’t treat him differently.

“What do you mean, Heather?”

“If he’s here then he can’t be on TV anywhere else because he’s with us, Mommy. And he has to shave his beard because the Beatles don’t have them. He can’t fly back to England because he said England is very far away from New York.”

“Oh,” realized Linda. “Do you mean what if Paul is being interviewed or singing on TV?” 

“What’s an interview?”

“When someone asks someone else questions.”

“I’m asking you questions. Am I interviewing you, Mommy?” Heather wondered aloud as she gave Kitty a kiss and Paddington a snuggle.

“No. When people use the word ‘interview’, it’s usually for a reporter. So, if Paul was being asked questions for a magazine, newspaper, for a television show or radio that would be an interview. The reporter would ask him questions like ‘how did you come up with the idea to write the song?’ or ‘what instrument did you play on the song?’ Questions like that. When someone goes on television, they go into a studio that has cameras. Those cameras have film in them, which record someone.”

“Like your camera?”

“No, my camera doesn’t record videos. These cameras that record film for a movie or for television are so big and heavy that one person couldn’t carry them. Film is made up of a lot of pictures all moving very quickly. I think there are about 20 of them that play every second. How many seconds are in a minute?”

“Sixty,” Heather said.

“Very good! So our brain sees hundreds and hundreds of pictures every minute and thinks that what is on the screen is moving.”

“Why?”

Linda told Heather that she was unsure because that would require her knowing how the brain works, which even doctors don’t fully understand. She did, however, bring Heather a photography book to show her how a film camera worked. Linda sat patiently with her as they flipped through a photography book.

Suddenly, Heather asked, “what if Paul’s different now? I know his secret.”

“Well, it wasn’t really a secret.”

Playing with Kitty’s tail, she told her mother that since she did not tell her who he was that it was, indeed, a secret.

“He’s not going to treat you differently, Heather. And you shouldn’t treat Paul differently either. He’s still the same person. You’ve done lots of things together and you’ve had lots of fun with him.” Linda could feel Heather’s head nodding ‘yes’. “He wouldn’t do anything to change that. He likes spending time with you. I know you feel the same.”

Heather re-read the tag the tag that said, “please look after this bear thank you.” She hadn’t been taking good care of him like she promised she would. Feeling guilty, she sat Paddington next to her.

“Is he mad?” Heather asked.

“Not one bit. Why would he be?”

“Paul sounded really angry, Mommy.”

“He wasn’t mad at you, Heather.”

Pulling Paddington close, she asked, “then why was he yelling?”

“Because we had an argument.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. But Paul’s not mad at you.”

Heather looked down at Paddington pensively. Unintentionally, she mimicked the bear’s expressionless face. After a few seconds, she looked up to ask, “Mommy, are you still fighting?”

Linda shook her head ‘no’. “We made up.”

“Do you and Paul still love each other?”

Upon hearing that, Linda gave a semi-bashful smile; in the other room, Paul beamed. “Absolutely,” Linda assured.

In the past few weeks, she and Paul had grown incredibly close. Linda felt as though, regardless of what she told Paul, he would understand. So on the same wavelength, they could deduce when the other felt upset or angry. The advice they gave each other always had the other’s best interest at heart. Best of all, they could be in each other’s company in relaxed silence, especially if it was while they cuddled. He was not only a close friend but also a confidante and, perhaps, even a soulmate.

“Promise, Mommy?”

“Promise,” Linda said with complete honesty. Beaming, she continued, “just because you have a fight with someone doesn’t mean that you stop loving them.” Handing her a tissue, she commented, “you look a lot better, sweetie. You look calmer than when I first woke you up.”

“Yeah,” Heather whispered. “I feel better.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Pointing to Paddington, Linda commented, “I found him in the corner upside down.” Remorsefully, Heather gave him a tight hug to say ‘I’m sorry’.

Taking her daughter’s hand, she asked “want to go wash your face and then talk to Paul?” Heather nodded her head ‘yes’.

“Come on—I’ll sit with you.”

As they walked to the bathroom, Heather asked, “Mommy, do you really promise that Paul’s not mad?”

“I promise, Heather.” She very much wanted to tell her Heather that Paul was just as worried as she was.


	34. Chapter 34

From the bathroom, Heather walked toward the sound of the guitar, looking down at her white socks. Once at the foot of the bed, she felt Mommy squeeze her hand, then let go. Linda handed Paddington to her daughter, knowing how much she wanted her to stay. With a kiss on the cheek, she whispered in Heather’s right ear “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

“Mommy, wait!” Heather said, running after her.

Turning around, Linda asked, “yes?”

“Don’t leave. Please?”

Paul’s guitar playing suddenly stopped, as he could no longer ignore Heather’s anxious behavior. 

“I’ll just be in the kitchen heating up the meat sauce I made earlier. We’re having spaghetti and salad tonight.”

Heather bit her lower lip, thinking of what else she could do to prevent her mother from leaving. “Will you cut it for me, Mommy?”

“Sure.”

Heather stood, looking at her mother as she held Kitty and Paddington in her arms. “But you’re staying?”

“Yes,” Linda replied in earnest, knowing that Heather implied the words ‘in the apartment’. “Ok, Heather?”

Heather ignored her mother’s question, wiggling her loose tooth with her tongue to distract her.

“Heather…” Linda reminded. Frustrated, Heather sighed. How did her mother always know?

“Whispering in Heather’s ear, she said, “talk to Paul. He wants to make sure you’re ok.” Linda then stood up and left the room while acquiescing her guilt—while she wanted to comfort her daughter, Linda knew Heather had to learn to do deal with situations without her mother’s assistance. Paul’s affectionate nature and kind, yet, now, worried, demeanor quelled a portion of her remorseful attitude.

Quietly, Heather held Kitty under her right arm and Paddington under her left. Why did Mommy have to leave?

Sitting on a corner of the bed, Paul greeted her with a PR-friendly smile. “Hello, Heather” he said, noodling on his guitar. “Alright, then?”

Heather hesitated, attempting to hold both stuffed companions in her arms.

Paul could tell that she was still concerned. He remembered the song that he and Heather loved to sing—“out of college, money spent, see no future, pay no rent, all the money’s gone nowhere to go”.

Heather began to smile so he continued with a silly poem one of his cousins had taught him long ago:

Roses are red  
Violets are blue  
Some poems rhyme  
But this one doesn’t!

Heather let out a snort and a giggle. Paul had succeeded. Patting the spot next to him, he encouraged, “hop up.”

‘Mommy was right,’ Heather thought ‘Paul isn’t mad’ as she took the seat he offered her. Before climbing up, she placed Kitty and Paddington on the bed. She again tried her best to cuddle both of them, but they overwhelmed the space between her arms.

“It looks like you’ve got your hands full, treacle. Want me to hold someone?” Heather gave Paddington to Paul, who set the bear in his lap.

Quickly, she focused on scratching the top of Kitty’s head. Her feet swaying, Heather asked, “were you playing a song earlier?”

“No,” he replied, adjusting the buttons on Paddington’s blue coat. “I was just messin’ about. But it might turn into one.”

Pensive, Heather stayed silent—she was still unsure of what to say. She felt guilty that Tommy said mean things about Paul. While thinking of ways to address the elephant in the room, Kitty rested against her right shoulder. Positioning his mouth toward her ear, she listened to his advice. Meekly, Heather asked “are you mad?”

“About what happened at school? Nah,” Paul replied, unfazed. “I’m sorry you got teased, though. No one likes to be teased.”

“It’s mean,” she said, looking at Paul.

Holding Paddington’s right paw, he agreed, “it is. I got teased when I was younger, Heather.”

“You did?”

Paul felt Paddington’s long strands of fur as he distantly replied, “yeah, I was quite pudgy. I had a sweet tooth. Still do, really. I loved eating sweets—chocolate, candy, biscuits—practically anything sweet. Eating too many sweets made me tubby. Me brother called it ‘puppy fat’. He’d pinch me, tease me, he called me names. And boys at school used to do it as well. I was quite sensitive about it but I’d just let it roll off me…pretend I wasn’t bothered. But, deep down, it hurt.”

Heather scratched Kitty’s cheek. “That’s not nice.”

“It wasn’t,” he said. Quickly changing subjects, he assured “it’ll get better, treacle. You just have to give it time. If you act like it doesn’t bother you, that boy’ll stop teasing you.”

“That’s what Mommy said.”

“She’s right. She’s a very smart woman, your Mum.”

Paul’s comment pleased Heather. Still a tad upset, she fished for her own compliment. “Am I smart?” she asked.

“Course you are!” he exclaimed. “I still remember when we were in the candy shop. You were transfixed as you watched the man behind the counter make fudge.”

A puzzled look appeared on Heather’s face. “Wait…what’s, um, trans…fixed mean?”

“Transfixed means that you’re fascinated by something. The man making the fudge was all you wanted to watch, just like nothing else mattered, like nothing else in the world mattered. You were transfixed.”

“Oh,” said Heather.

A smile snuck up on Paul’s face. “What I remember from that day was how you read each of those labels below the fudge. I couldn’t believe it!” Like her mother did at times, Heather looked away in embarrassment at the compliment she received. “You read very well for someone who’s only five years old.”

“Almost six,” she corrected.

“You read very well for someone who’s almost six years old.”

Proud, she gave Kitty a hug and a kiss. “Thank you,” she quietly told Paul. Heather then moved to rest her head atop a pillow on right side of the bed. “Why didn’t Mommy want me to know?”

A well of uneasiness formed in Paul’s throat. “Your Mummy and I talked about it and we both thought it didn’t matter. All that mattered is that you and I got on—that’s really all either of us wanted.”

“But why don’t you want people to know?”

“Remember how, when you came home, you wanted to be alone?” Heather nodded. “Sometimes, that’s what I want.”

Heather yawned, her mouth opening as wide as a lion, then said, “that’s sad.”

“Mmm, not always. Everyone needs time to themselves.” Paul crawled to the left side of the bed, facing Heather.

“People know you,” she reiterated. Paul nodded his head ‘yes’. “Why don’t you always want them to know?”

Sometimes, children asked questions that required complex answers. Biding his time, Paul moved Paddington to block his view of Heather. A rash of, first, simple, then, existential questions saturated his mind; if he enjoyed being famous, then why was he running from what he worked for so many years to achieve? Was wanting time to himself or to not be recognized every time he went out selfish? Paul didn’t want to not be famous or be forgotten. He loved being a Beatle; but, of late, it had become more trying. All he wanted was occasional privacy.

“Why don’t you want them to know?” Heather repeated.

Paul sighed, removing Paddington from his view. “Because sometimes I just want to be meself.”

“But you are yourself.”

He played with the silky polyester and cotton blend of his blue pajamas between his thumb and forefinger. “I mean a normal person—someone who can walk around without anyone knowing who they are,” explained Paul. “Sometimes, I don’t want to be recognized. I just want to blend in with everyone else.”

“Oh,” Heather said, stroking Kitty’s back. She still did not understand what Paul meant. “But you’re good at blending in! Nobody knows you here…except Mommy and me.”

“Not without me beard, treacle,” he gently explained. “That’s why I grew one.”

“What happens if you don’t have one?”

“Girls won’t stop screaming,” he half-joked.

Heather giggled. “Did you have a beard when you met Mommy?”

“No.”

“Did Mommy scream when she saw you?”

Paul chuckled “no, Heather.” After pausing a moment, he corrected, “actually, that might not be true. Maybe she did scream when she first saw me. Your Mummy told me that she went to see me when I performed at Shea Stadium.” Heather gasped, but Paul continued. “There were thousands of girls screamin’ then. But the first time she met me, no, she didn’t scream.”

“You played in front of all those people at the stadium?” she asked in shock.

“Mm-hmm,” he said.

Heather pulled Kitty close to her chest and yawned. “Were you scared?”

Paul picked a piece of lint out of Paddington’s fur, noticing his hands were sweaty. “A little,” he told her. “But I think that’s alright. If you’re a little nervous, it makes you excited. Playing for all of those people was incredible.”

Heather moved closer to Paul. Partially lying on top of him, she gave Paul a hug; in return, Paul put his right arm on her back. “Alright, then?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s for being scared,” Heather explained.

“I’m alright now, treacle. But thank you—I always love a good hug,” he grinned, then began to cough. Heather backed away to give Paul space.

Placing Paddington in his lap, he patted the spot next to him, encouraging her to “come ‘ead”. With Kitty tucked under her right arm, she took her place beside Paul.

“Paul,” Heather asked, “what’s it like to be famous?”

Giving himself a bit more time, Paul lit a cigarette. “It’s alright,” Paul said unenthusiastically while looking down at Kitty. His chest tightened as he was reminded of the side of his job that he did not enjoy—fans harassing him wherever he went and invasion of privacy. For now, he wanted to be on vacation from his job and his life in England. Seeing Linda raise Heather gave Paul perspective on what he wanted—a normal life with a family. He very much wanted that family to be Linda and Heather. With them, Paul felt ordinary. And though he worried that Heather would treat him radically different after she discovered who he was, he now realized she was simply curious.

“Do you ever wish nobody knew you?”

“You mean like knew I was famous?” Paul clarified. Heather shook her head ‘yes’. Paul exhaled deeply, then said “no, because I worked so hard for it. But spending time with you and your Mummy is much better.”

Heather smiled a bit. “How’d you meet Mommy?”

The question brought back fond memories of that night in May 1967. Paul inhaled a puff of his cigarette, then dreamily began “I met your Mummy at a club in London. I saw her from across the room and thought ‘she’s very pretty’. So I went over and introduced myself.”

“And then you fell in love!” she said, unable to contain a smile.

“Not right away. We went with our friends to another club and we chatted a bit. Then I saw her again when she took pictures of me and my mates.” Paul casually skipped over the dirty weekend by saying, “and then we saw each other again a few more times. In August, I called your Mummy and said ‘I’d like you to come to London to stay with me.’ Your Mummy said ‘thank you for the invitation but I have a very cute little girl who is starting school. I want to make sure she’s alright before I leave. I have to think about it.’ I was disappointed, but I understood—that’s what any good mum would’ve done. So, your Mummy thought and thought and I waited and waited. Even though it was only a few days, it seemed like a very long time because I wanted her to say ‘yes’ very very much. I’m no good at waiting.”

“Me neither. It takes forever!” she mused as she held one of Kitty’s paws.

Paul smiled, amused. “But it was worth waiting because your Mummy said ‘yes’! And then she came over to London for a while.”

“What did you do in London?”

“Oh, we did all sorts! Your Mummy and I went on the Underground, which is what we call the subway. We went to the studio, to the country. We listened to music, talked, giggled…your Mummy and I walked Martha, my old English sheepdog, too. Everywhere your Mummy and I went, her camera followed.”

“Mommy always takes pictures.”

“She does, treacle. She even helped me clean up me house a bit. Now, it feels much more like a home,” Paul said, contented. “And, we got Paddington, too. I remembered you didn’t have a teddy bear so I thought I’d get you one. Your Mummy helped me pick him out.” Pushing Paddington toward Heather, he said, “now, you have a teddy bear of your very own.”

Gulping, Heather averted Paul and Paddington’s eyes. “No,” she sadly stated. “He can’t be my teddy bear. He has a tag that says ‘please take care of this bear thank you’. But I was mean to him because I threw him. You take him.”

Paul’s heart simultaneously warmed and broke; Heather took her bond with her stuffed animals very seriously. He shook his head ‘no’ and said, “I can’t take him, Heather. He’s your teddy bear. If you gave him to me, he’d miss you terribly; he loves you, you know.”

“No he doesn’t,” she doubted.

Pulling Paddington close, he pretended, through whispers, to have a conversation. “Yes, he does. He just told me so,” he assured. “In fact, he wants a cuddle right now.”

Heather gave a reserved smile. Looking at Kitty, she gave him a kiss; “I love you,” she whispered. “Will you take care of Kitty?” she asked Paul.

“Of course. Here, treacle, we’ll trade.”

Taking the bear in her arms, Heather rested Paddington’s head atop her left shoulder. “I promise I’ll take care of you this time. Can I have a kiss?” With her right hand, Heather guided Paddington toward her left cheek. Smiling, she thanked him, then returned the favor.

“See? Paddington loves you,” Paul said, scratching Kitty behind the ears.

“Did you ever have a teddy bear?”

Paul told Heather all about his teddy bear, Henry the Bear, who he got from his mum. When he told her that, at age 7, he gave him to one of his baby cousins because he thought he was too old, Heather’s face filled with disappointment. Tightening her hold on Paddington, she sternly promised, “I’ll never ever ever give Kitty and Paddington away. I love them so much. They’re my best friends.”

Heather’s comment touched Paul; this was exactly what he loved about children—their idealism and their conviction to never age. Paul returned Kitty to his devoted owner, who struggled to hold her faux fur friends.

Placing his hand on Heather’s torso, he quietly comforted, “you don’t have to give them up just because I did, Heather. Stuffed animals don’t have an age limit. I gave Henry up because I was trying to act older than I really was. I didn’t want to seem soft to other boys my age if they came ‘round my house. I probably gave him up too early. For a long while, I missed him but I didn’t tell anyone. It made me cousin happy, which made me happy…but I still missed him sometimes.” Heather stayed silent but Paul continued, “Kitty and Paddington are yours for as long as you want. They’re quite fortunate to have an owner who loves them as much as you.”

Quietly, Linda entered the room, placing herself on the corner of the bed opposite Paul. Feeling the weight of someone sitting, he looked up to see Linda and gave her a wink.

Concerned, Linda moved to Paul to whisper “what happened?” Paul responded with a kiss on her cheek, telling her it was alright. At the same time, Heather rushed to her mother.

“Mommy?” Heather asked, slightly worried. “Mommy, did you have stuffed animals when you were a kid?” Bending down, Linda told Heather she did. “Do you still have them?” Heather hoped.

“Not any more.”

Struggling not to drop anyone, she mournfully asked “why not?”

“Because I didn’t want them any more.”

“Why? Did you stop loving them?”

Linda looked up at Paul with confusion, then back to her daughter. “I didn’t stop loving them—I just outgrew them. Sometimes, your interests change as you get older.”

“When did you give them away?”

“Hmm…I don’t know. Maybe when I was 15 or 16.”

With relief, Heather sighed then gave Kitty and Paddington each a kiss. She then told her mother “Paul gave his teddy bear away when he was 7.”

“Did he?” Linda asked with an interested smile, turning toward Paul.

“He gave his teddy bear Henry away, Mommy! And, sometimes, he missed him a lot. I don’t want to do that. I’m going to keep my stuffed animals forever because I love them.”

Linda gave her daughter a small smile. “You look like you feel a lot better.”

“Yeah, Mommy. Paul made me feel better.”

“I knew he would.”

“Mommy, why can’t I call Paul ‘daddy’?”

The world around Linda muted as her heart jittered. Her answer had to walk a careful line, especially in front of Paul. “That’s difficult question, Heather, especially so close to dinner time.” As soon as the words left her lips, a heavy guilt weighed her body down.

Heather crossed her stuffed animal-filled arms. “But why?”

“It’s not nice to ask a question about someone in front of them. We’ll talk about it later. How about you find something to color in one of your coloring books?”

“No.”

“Heather...”

“Mommy, Miss D said a daddy did things like love their children and play with them and teach them about right and wrong and make them laugh and read to them and spend time with them.”

“Miss D is right,” Linda nodded.

“Paul does all those things, Mommy. So why can’t I call him Daddy?!”

Taken aback, the background noise evaporated from the room. Linda stared blankly at her wooden dresser, immersed in thought. The question instilled both frightening and touching feelings in her. If Heather started calling Paul ‘daddy’, that would add fuel to the fire of Paul wanting to marry her. Her brief marriage to Joseph was less than ideal. The relationship she had with Paul had proven to her that a marriage ceremony is not the end all and be all. She was content to live with him for as long as their relationship lasted which, hopefully, was a very long while. Their relationship was one that was committed.

What started as a persistent daydream was now the most honest, meaningful relationship she had ever had with a man. Paul had become her best friend and constant companion. He was the man who could make her laugh, give her advice and keep her warm. Most importantly, though, he respected (and even admired) her role as a mother and treated Heather as his own little girl, of whom he couldn’t have been prouder.

From Heather’s perspective, however, her opinion of Paul had evolved from a stranger who had taken her mother away to a live-in playmate to someone to whom she had grown very attached. If Paul ever left, it pained Linda to think about how upset Heather would be.

She trusted Paul to take care of Heather, not only because he would keep her safe but also because of their mutual affection. Heather hugged Paul, shared her feelings with him, let him tuck her into bed, let him tickle her…but calling him ‘Daddy’ just wasn’t something she felt comfortable having Heather say.

Shaking her head ‘no’, Linda answered “not now, Heather. Later. I have to go get dinner ready. Excuse me.”

Looking up in confusion, Heather asked, “why did Mommy leave? Is she mad?”

Crouching down, Paul shook his head ‘no’. “It’s difficult to explain, Heather.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Paul winced. “Because it’s the truth. But it still doesn’t give you an answer, though.”

“Why won’t anyone tell me?” Hugging Kitty and Paddington tightly, Heather closed her eyes. 

“It’s di-“ Paul stopped himself. “It isn’t easy, Heather. Really, it’s not. It’s not that either of us don’t want to…neither of us know how to explain it.”

“Why can’t you try?”

“Hmm…” Paul said as he sat on the carpet and leaned against the bedframe. “I’m not your Daddy. I’m your Mummy’s friend.”

“But you feel like my Daddy! I love you, Paul.”

Paul beamed uncontrollably, showing his fang. That was the first time Heather had ever said those words. “I love you, too, Heather.”

Heather sat beside Paul, with Paddington placed on her legs as she pet Kitty, head to tail. “If I love you, then why can’t I call you Daddy?”

“Well…” Paul began. Scratching his head, part of the ethereal feeling faded. How could he explain this to Heather in a way that didn’t place the blame on Linda? “Just because you love someone doesn’t mean that you have to call them Mummy or Daddy or Grandma or Grandpa. You can call them by their name, like you do with me.”

“But you sometimes call me ‘treacle’ instead of ‘Heather’. And Mommy sometimes calls me ‘sweetie’ and ‘Heather-bear’. If you and Mommy do it to me, then I can do it to you.”

Foiled again. Heather was one of the cleverest children he had ever met. Perhaps it was best if he stopped calling her ‘treacle’. “For now, Heather, I think it’s best to just leave it. If you call me ‘Paul’, I’ll call you ‘Heather’. Alright?”

“What about treacle?”

Paul shook his head ‘no’. “It doesn’t seem right that only one of us can call the other by another name.”

“It’s Mommy’s fault! She won’t let me call you Daddy.”

“Don’t say that, Heather. It’s more complicated than that.”

“Why?”

“The only answer I have,” Paul sighed, clasping his hands, “is that it’s a sensitive subject. For now, it’s best to let it pass.”


	35. Chapter 35

“Come on, Heather—it’s bedtime. Be a good girl and go brush your teeth.”

Not a minute later, Heather returned to her makeshift bedroom. Taking Heather’s hand, Linda returned to the bathroom to help her daughter brush thoroughly. 

Afterward, Paul said goodnight to Heather, asking her to smile so he could see her beautifully brushed teeth and her loose tooth. He then wished Heather sweet dreams and gave her a hug goodnight, which she returned.

Settling into the mattress, Heather pulled the covers up to warm her. Kitty took his place under her arm. Behind her, she tucked Paddington Bear, ensuring that he had enough covers and pillow to fall asleep. While Linda adjusted the covers, out of nowhere, Heather commented, “Mommy, you love Paul.”

Unable to contain her smile, Linda replied, “I do.” Her response made Paul smile; while he was well aware that he should not be listening, the afternoon’s events brought a frightening insecurity that made his heart quiver like a thin tree branch in the wind.

“Do you love me?” she asked as she pet Kitty.

“Of course, Heather! I love you very much.” Linda sat down on the cream-colored carpet, knowing that this conversation would be one that lasted a while.

“How do you love more than one person?”

Linda opened her mouth to speak, then quickly closed it, unsure of how to answer her daughter’s question.

Heather filled the pensive silence with a follow-up question: “Mommy, what if your heart runs out of room?”

With delight at her daughter’s curiosity, the right corner of Linda’s lips moved to a half-smile. “If you love someone, your heart will make room for them.”

“Does it have to be a person? Mommy, I love Kitty and he’s not a person. And I love Paddington, too, and he’s not a person either.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be a person,” Linda yawned. “You’re a good mommy.”

“I’m Kitty and Paddington’s mommy?” Heather gasped.

“Of course!—they get hugs, kisses, warmth, food. You help them get better if they’re sick…who else could they turn to when they needed something?”

Heather considered her mother’s question intently, realizing her mother was right. “I do all of those things.”

“You do. That’s why you’re their mommy. That’s a mommy’s job.” After finishing her thought, Linda sneezed.

“Bless you.”

“Thank you.”

“You do all that stuff you said for me, too. That means you’re my Mommy.”

Linda nodded her head ‘yes’, but not before sneezing again.

“Bless you. Mommy, are you sick?” Heather asked.

“No, Heather. I just sneezed. I’m ok.”

Settling further into her bed, Heather adjusted the covers again. Yawning, she asked her mother how she knew “all this Mommy stuff.”

“What do you mean by ‘all this Mommy stuff’?” Linda asked as she tucked the covers close to her neck.

“You always know everything—you made me feel better when Tommy was mean…and you knew Paul would be nice…and you make me feel better when I’m sick and how to read bedtime stories and you can cook everything in the world and you know how to color and how to be silly and everything else in the entire world. How do you know all that stuff?”

Heather’s comment made Linda grin broadly. While Linda was well aware that she was Heather’s guide to the world, until now, she had forgotten that her answers were held with such high esteem by her daughter. Though she knew the days of this mindset were slowly fleeting, for now, she cherished this moment.

Linda also knew that saying she went to the school of life was not interesting. Instead, she told Heather a fib that would make her giggle. “I went to Mommy school,” she said.

With a smile, Heather said “nuh-uh, Mommy! You’re silly! That’s what you always say.”

“It’s because it’s true,” Linda winked.

“You’re just joking!” Heather insisted as she felt Kitty’s fur brush against her fingers.

“I’m not. Honest!”

Heather put her ear to Kitty and Paddington’s mouths. Speaking for them, she told her mother “Kitty and Paddington don’t think Mommy school is real.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Linda smiled. “Mommy school is real.”

Heather giggled while doubting her mother’s response. “Where’s Mommy school?”

“Mmm, I can’t tell you, sweetie. It’s a secret.”

“You can tell me! I’ll keep it a secret,” Heather yawned. “I won’t tell anyone, Mommy, I promise.”

Linda shook her head ‘no’ again. Kissing Heather on the cheek, she told her, in earnest “Sorry, sweetie, but I can’t tell you. All mommies are sworn to secrecy when they go to Mommy school. One day, though, you’ll go there. And I know that you’ll be just as smart, if not smarter, than I am.”

“Really?” Heather asked, blushing. “I’ll know how to do all the stuff you do?” Tired, she drew a large yawn.

“Yes, really,” Linda assured.

“But, Mommy, I haven’t gone to Mommy school yet. How can I be Kitty and Paddington’s Mommy?”

Linda explained that she was a Mommy-in-training, of which the school strongly approved.

“But how?”

Seeing that Heather was lying with Kitty cheek-to-cheek, Linda knew she was ready for bed. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, sweetie. How about a story before dreamland?”

Heather asked to hear her mother read more of the Paddington book to her. Scratching Kitty, she asked, “Mommy, does Paul have to come to school tomorrow?”

While Linda was well aware why Heather didn’t want Paul to come—she didn’t want to be teased—she played dumb. “He always goes with me to pick you up from school. Why don’t you want him to come tomorrow?”

“I want you to pick me up, Mommy.”

“But I always do, Heather. And Paul comes with me.”

“Nuh-uh! You didn’t pick me up when you went to the dentist.”

Linda reminded Heather that, “I picked you up from school when I went to the dentist, but I left because I had to go to my appointment.”

“You didn’t when you went to the dentist again!”

“I pick you up as often as I possibly can, Heather. Sometimes, things come up and I can’t. But I always try my hardest to take you home from school myself.” When Linda saw that Heather was squeezing Kitty, she changed her tactic. “Are you worried?”

“No,” Heather said bashfully.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not worried, Mommy! I wanna hear Curious George.”

“Why don’t you want Paul to come with me to pick you up?”

“I just don’t,” she said quickly. “I wanna hear Curious George.”

Linda decided to move on. “I thought you said you wanted to hear Paddington.”

Heather shook her head ‘no’, repeating that she wanted to hear Curious George instead.

“Are you sure? You were enjoying Paddington so much.”

“Curious George is funny, Mommy.” Through her yawning, she continued, “I wanna hear that one.”

“What do you say when you want something, Heather?”

“I wanna hear Curious George, Mommy. Please.”

A quarter of the way through the story, Heather fell asleep. Linda rubbed her daughter’s back as she told herself that she would try, again, in the morning, to talk to Heather; perhaps, in the light of day, she would change her mind.

 

 

After much whining and coaxing to keep her eyes open, Linda awoke her peacefully slumbering daughter a few minutes earlier than normal. In the hope Heather would smile, she pushed her nose and gave her a tickle. “Good morning. How’d you sleep, sweetie?”

“Mommy, Mommy, that tickles!” she said through laughter.

“I know,” she grinned, then sneezed into her arm. Repeating her question, she asked, “how’d you sleep, sweetie?”

“I’m sleepy,” Heather yawned. “I wanna go back to bed.” Turning toward the wall, Heather slid her head far down onto her pillowcase. Linda gently admonished her daughter, reminding her that she could take a nap when she got home—right now, she needed to get ready for school.

“I can’t go to school, Mommy. I don’t feel good.”

As a mother, Linda knew the one word that made Heather not want to go to school—Tommy. A small part of her, however, took Heather seriously—if Heather really was sick and she ignored it, Linda would feel terribly guilty. After putting her hand to Heather’s forehead for a few seconds, she then declared, “you don’t feel like you have fever, Heather. What hurts?”

“Ummm…I just feel really sleepy.”

“If you’re sleepy, you can take a nap when you come home.”

“No, Mommy, I can’t! What if I fall asleep in class?”

“You’re not going to fall asleep in class, Heather,” Linda tiredly argued. “You got a full night’s rest.”

“But, Mommy, I don’t feel good.”

With a sneeze, Linda asked, “what’s wrong?”

As she buried herself in covers, Heather moved Kitty under her chin. The warmth and heft of the blankets comforted her. Calmly, she changed the subject—“Mommy, I love it when I wake up and Kitty is in my arms. It means I held him the whole night.”

“Oh, does Kitty like being held?” Linda asked, drawing the sweat off her brow.

“Yeah, that’s why I hold him so much. It makes him happy and it makes me happy, too.”

Linda smiled at her daughter’s comment, telling her “I’m glad you’re both happy. But you still haven’t told me why you’re not feeling well.”

Heather gave a sigh as her heart raced against her chest. She began having a conversation with Kitty through whispers, deciding what she should do. The silence was interrupted with a barrage of sneezes.

“Mommy, I’m sick and you’re sick too. If I stay home from school, we can be sick together.”

Linda shook her head ‘no’. “I’m not sick, Heather, and neither are you. What’s upsetting you? You can tell me.” As chills radiated through her body, Linda saw Heather look up at her with hurt and worry.

“How’d you know I was upset?”

“A mommy can always tell when their child’s upset. It’s part of what you learn at Mommy school.”

Feeling both defensive and pugnacious, she pulled her hand back and then stated “Mommy school’s not real.”

“Heather…”

Her mother’s tone told her that this was neither the time nor the place for such an argument. Clutching Kitty next to her face, she closed her eyes and said “Tommy.”

“Are you afraid he’ll make fun of you again?” she empathetically asked.

“Yeah,” she sighed.

Linda wished she could draw Heather close and envelop her in her comforting arms. As she felt a cold coming on, she realized it was best to not do so. “I understand, sweetie pie,” she reassured. Suddenly, she shivered. “I know how much you want him to stop. If he does tease you or say something mean, just walk away—that’ll make Tommy realize that what he’s saying doesn’t have any effect. And, eventually, he’ll just stop.”

“But, Mommy, I want him to stop now! It’s mean. I don’t like it! Please don’t make me go to school, Mommy. Please?”

Though empathetic, Linda would not let her daughter give in so easily. “No, Heather. You don’t have a fever. That means you have to go to school.” Her eyes widened as she realized that those were the same words her father always told her—no matter how much Linda begged and pleaded to stay home from school, he always refused. He insisted that it built character; avoiding any responsibility taught poor work ethics. That did not, however, stop her from skipping school altogether after she was dropped off.

“That’s not fair!” Heather whined. Arms crossed, she turned away from her mother and sulked.

“You have to go to school today,” Linda repeated as she shivered again. “Go get ready for school.”

With her back to Linda, Heather whined, “I don’t want to.”

“Heather, I’m not leaving until you get out of bed.” Linda crossed her arms and waited while Heather stalled. After a few seconds, she sternly reiterated, “Heather.”

Slowly, Heather moved toward the bathroom, feeling the warmth of her body precipitously fall and her teeth begin to chatter.

After eating a banana with peanut butter and a slice of toast for breakfast, Heather walked to school beside Linda.

 

Linda let out five loud sneezes, after which she reached for the newly placed box of tissues beside her bed. Softly, she groaned as she looked at the neon green mucus inside the tissue. She slinked her way to the bathroom to wash hands and face of the sweat and germs that had suddenly accumulated. Subsequently, she felt momentarily refreshed. Looking at her bedroom clock, Linda saw the minute hand over the three. The moment for her to pick up Heather had arrived. Though it was only five blocks to the school, it felt like an insurmountable challenge. Linda’s entire body ached and was blanketed with chills. Diminutively, she sneezed again. Reaching for her coat, she told Paul “I’m going to pick Heather up and take her to the doctor. I’ll be back at about two.”

“You don’t look well, love. Your face has gone all pale.”

“It’s just a cold, Paul.”

Paul gave Linda a look of doubt. “Why don’t you stay home? I’ll take Heather to the doctor’s. Just give me the address.”

Practically hacking, Linda insisted that she would do it herself. “The doctor won’t know you.”

Frowning, Paul scratched his head and took a drag from his cigarette. He wished Linda would take his advice to heart—she seemed proper sick. With tender insistence and a hint of pleading, he suggested, “then, at least, let the doctor take a look at you while you’re there, Lin. Your cough sounds like mine in the morning and you don’t even smoke…well, not cigarettes. I don’t want you to get sicker, love.”

Linda mustered a closed-mouthed smile, comforted by the fact that Paul truly cared about her. “I’ll think about it, Paul,” she promised.

Paul gave her a half-hearted smile. “Please,” he sincerely begged. With a kiss in the air near her cheek, he wrapped Linda’s scarf around her neck. “I love you, Lin,” he said emphatically. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Paul, that’s very sweet,” Linda compassionately replied as her cheeks started to blush. “I love you, too. The time I’ve spent with you has flown. I’m very happy that I’m going back to London with you and Heather.”

“Me too. You and Heather coming to London will make me house more of a home than you already made it. I’ll have a family to come home to…but not if you don’t get better first, Lin.” Brushing her hair aside, Paul told her to stay warm. Before Linda closed the door, Paul told her “as soon as you get better, I’m going to give you a kiss you’ll never forget.”

 

Linda knocked on Miss D’Annunzio’s wood classroom door, making the pebbled glass slightly tremble. Miss D’Annunzio answered the door, letting Linda inside. The other students couldn’t help but watch the back of the classroom as Linda repeatedly sneezed, sniffled and coughed while she helped Heather ready her backpack. Walking out the door, she waved goodbye to her desk neighbor and good friend, Angela.

Heather fully cooperated with the doctor while Linda watched from her blue metal stacking chair, trying to hide her congested cough and rubbing her hands to keep warm. Dr. Lee gave Heather a complete physical. When checking her stomach and appendix, Heather turned into a bundle of giggles, making Dr. Lee give a friendly, misaligned smile. In the end, the doctor gave her a clean bill of health, which Linda was happy to hear. For her good behavior, Heather received a cherry lollypop and an iridescent green star sticker, which she proudly placed on her black polo sweater. She couldn’t wait to go home and show it to Paul!

Dr. Lee then looked back to his next prospective patient and asked “how about you, Linda? Are you sure you’re alright?” He noticed that, during Heather’s check up, Linda had been struggling to keep herself warm and mask her sickness.

Linda sniffled to prevent her nose from running, then declared she was “fine”.

The few times that the 57-year-old Dr. Man “David” Lee had met Linda he learned that she was a quite determined, strong-willed woman and mother. Like his late mother, Linda thought she could fight through anything, mainly because of her naïve arrogance in her abilities to juggle responsibilities. Though she always made sure her daughter got proper care, the same could not be said of her. He rarely saw Linda for a check up and, when he did, it was usually because she was exceptionally sick. Dr. Lee’s mother, an immigrant from the Szechuan province of China, died before her time because she avoided doctors after she immigrated to America. What started as a simple cold turned into fatal pneumonia. He did not want to see the same happen to Linda.

The doctor ripped the used paper covering the exam table, rolling a fresh strip. “Come on,” he ordered, patting the exam table. “Let me give you a once-over.”

In between sneezes, Linda shook her head ‘no’. Clearing her throat, she added, “I’m fine. I don’t want to trouble you.”

He shook his head. “Do yourself some good, Linda. I don’t want you to get sicker. Please.”

Linda felt like she was listening to herself when she took care of Heather. He also reminded her of what Paul had said earlier. She did, however, find a loophole. “But you don’t have my chart.”

Dr. Lee sighed in frustration. He had a feeling that Linda was trying to run out the clock. He didn’t object, though, as he knew it was proper procedure. “I cannot, in good conscience, let you leave. I would not be doing my job if I did that. You look pale.”

“It’s just a cold,” she retorted. “Really, it’s nothing.”

“Mommy, Dr. Lee’s nice. I got a lollypop and a sticker! Are you scared?”

Linda shook her head ‘no’ as she half-smiled. While she appreciated his generosity, she did not want to be scrutinized. Linda already knew what the doctor would tell her—she needed rest and, most likely, some awful-tasting medicine. “I’ll be ok, Heather-bear.”

“That may be true,” the doctor sighed again “I help anyone who comes into this office, even if they don’t have an appointment.” Linda smirked. “That cough concerns me, especially if you’re going to travel soon.”

Heather removed the diminishing lollypop from her mouth. “The doctor makes you feel all better. That’s what he does when you’re sick, Mommy. And then he’ll give you a lollypop and a sticker! He let me have red. That’s my favorite.”

Heather’s reasoning made Linda’s smile increase. To a child, the choice was simple—get a check up and, afterward, you get a lollypop and a sticker. Linda could tell how much Heather cared, though. Her persistent, phlegm-filled cough interrupted her thoughts. To quell Heather and Paul’s worries, perhaps she should let Dr. Lee look at her.

“I don’t want you to be sick, Mommy. Being sick is yucky. And Dr. Lee’s nice. Please, Mommy?” Heather begged.

When Linda looked up, she and Heather were alone. ‘Sneaky,’ thought Linda.

 

When Dr. Lee returned, he found Linda, reluctantly, sitting on the exam table and Heather looking around the room for something to amuse herself. The disciplinarian in Linda emerged, telling her daughter to sit quietly while the doctor did his work.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he told Linda. “You’re a model patient.”

“Where’s your camera?” smarted Linda.

Dr. Lee chuckled, commenting, “you’re the photographer, not me.”

“Heather was…” A flurry of sneezes interrupted her sentence. “Heather was the one who convinced me,” she commented as she wrapped her arms around her freezing self.

Peering down at Heather, the doctor thanked her. “I think that deserves another sticker,” he mused. “Which one would you like?”

Heather picked an iridescent red heart, which she proudly showed her mother.

“Thank you!” she grinned. “Dr. Lee?”

“Yes, Heather?”

“If Mommy’s good, will you give her a lollypop and a sticker when she’s done?” Heather wanted to make sure her mother was treated fairly. Dr. Lee assured her that, if she cooperated, she would get a sticker and two lollypops (for being extra brave).

Face-to-face with Linda, he pulled a thermometer out of his pressed white doctor’s coat. “Open and lift your tongue,” the doctor instructed, shaking it down. Dutifully, Linda did as she was told.

Heather the followed Dr. Lee across the elfin stark-white room to his medical supplies. There, he stood reading Linda’s chart. “Is Mommy gonna be ok?”

Taking the thermometer out of her mouth, Linda warned “Heather, don’t bother Dr. Lee.”

“She’s fine, Linda. Thermometer back under your tongue,” he ordered without taking an eye off her chart.

Heather repeated her question to the doctor, pulling on his coat to get his attention.

Dr. Lee knew better than to make a promise even though he was pretty sure of Linda’s diagnosis. Looking up from reading Linda’s chart, he said, “I’m going to give your Mommy a check up.”

“But you have to make her feel better!” Heather whined as she fidgeted with the hem of her black Dalton sweater.

Closing the folder, he told Heather, “that’s what I’m going to do.”

“How?”

“By doing some of the same things I did when I checked you.”

“Are you gonna check her tummy?” Heather hoped.

“Not this time.”

The doctor’s response punctured her balloon of hope. “I wanted Mommy to giggle,” she disappointedly said. Reaching for an errant strand of thread from the doctor’s coat, she distractedly asked “why’s Mommy sick?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said, looking at his watch. Heather followed Dr. Lee across the room, where he removed the thermometer from Linda’s mouth. Looking at the thermometer, he informed her that she had a fever.

Dr. Lee instructed Linda to lift her head so he could feel under her neck. Upon touching her swollen lymph nodes, she grimaced. “Hurt a lot?” he asked.

“A little,” meekly clarified Linda, sniffling again.

“Only a little?” He doubted Linda would have grimaced if they didn’t hurt more than she was letting on. “Be honest, Linda.”

Looking down at her knees, Linda sneezed again then rubbed her eyes. “You sound like my mother,” she commented.

Dr. Lee removed his hands from under her jaw and handed her a tissue box. “Your mother had good intentions,” he assured her.

Linda blew her nose and shook her head ‘yes’. “She was a tough cookie,” she said. “When I had a fever, she’d have the doctor give a house call. Mom would have to practically pin me down just to get the thermometer under my tongue.” Linda cleared her throat, her voice giving out. “Being sent to bed was like punishment.” Her voice fading, she mustered out “I’d have rather been outdoors or riding my horse.”

“Well, you’re being very cooperative now.” Before he continued with his exam, he commented, “it must be because you want that lollypop and a sticker,” he joked. Linda gave him a half-smile.

“Mommy likes lollypops,” Heather smiled.

“Which flavor’s her favorite?”

Heather shrugged “I don’t know. I like red. Mommy, do you like red, too?”

Linda nodded her head ‘yes’.

“Normally, you’re pretty talkative when you come in here, Linda. Does it hurt to talk?” Dr. Lee asked.

Linda shook her head ‘no’, making Dr. Lee frown. She added to her initial answer with a verbal “no”, then blew her nose again.

When he listened to her heart, he asked about her symptoms. Evidenced by her terse comments, Dr. Lee could tell that Linda was ever the reluctant patient.

“I’m glad you came in,” Dr. Lee said as he threw away the tongue depressor. “You have the flu. But you also sound congested; it sounds like it’s lying on your chest. In a few days, it could’ve been pneumonia.” The diagnosis sent a shiver to his knees; it was eerily similar to his mother’s. He perished the thought of Heather losing Linda. “How have you been sleeping?”

She coughed then began to breathe heavily through her mouth, revealing the congestion in her lungs. Sheepishly, Linda replied, “enough,” as she wiped her watery eyes.

Pressing her for a number, he asked, “how many hours?”

Stalling for time, Linda blew her nose. “Four or five hours.”

“You need much more than that—eight hours at the minimum,” he admonished. “You can fight this with bed rest. How long have you had that cough?”

Linda paused, remembering that this was exactly why she avoided doctors. She could not stand being asked so many questions and, then, being reprimanded for her actions; it was just like when her father reprimanded her for getting bad grades in school when she was younger. The dentist was the same way, judging how she brushed and, rarely, flossed her teeth, the state of her fillings and how many she had. She only went two weeks ago for Heather’s sake; the more times she left her alone with Paul, the sooner they would bond. Sighing, Linda perked up at the thought that the sooner she answered, the sooner she could go home. Tiredly, she replied “a day”.

“Intermittent?”

Linda nodded to confirm. Her thoughts drifted to how she was going to care for Paul and Heather while she was sick. She strategized that Paul could take Heather to school tomorrow and, perhaps, the next day. Her musings were interrupted by another sneeze.

“I want you to go to the drug store and get some cough syrup for that cough. Robitussin is the one I recommend for my patients. Keep blowing your nose and make sure you take some Tylenol to break your fever. And I want you to get plenty of rest—that’s very important,” he sternly instructed. “Do you smoke?”

Linda shook her head ‘no’.

“Yes you do, Mommy!”

Attempting to soothe her headache, Linda rubbed her temples.

Restraining a look of judgment, Dr. Lee simply commented “no smoking and no alcohol.”

Linda’s cough returned, preventing her from protesting.

“I mean it, Linda,” he admonished. “Your body needs to fight what’s making you feel this way. Adding impurities from smoking or alcohol will not help. You need plenty of rest so you can have enough strength to travel. You’re going to need strength to go to swinging London. And, speaking of London, it wouldn’t hurt to drink some tea for that cough. Honey helps, too. Most importantly, though, I want you to get some cough medicine that has a decongestant and an expectorant, like Robitussin. And I want you to take some Tylenol, as directed on the package—once every four to six hours. Do all that and you should feel better in three or four days.”

“Three days?!” Heather exclaimed.

Frustrated, Linda sighed again—she would be stuck in bed with nothing to do.

“Do yourself a favor and, when you go home, take a hot shower. Then, go to bed,” he instructed. “Heather, you have to keep washing your hands to make sure you don’t catch your Mommy’s flu.”

“Mommy’s gonna be sick for three days?!” Heather repeated.

“Yes, about that long.”

“I don’t want Mommy to be sick. I want her to get better.”

“Me too,” he agreed, writing something in her chart.

“Dr. Lee, you said you’d make Mommy feel better but you didn’t give her medicine. You didn’t make her feel better!”

Seconds, which seemed to drag on, passed. “Dr. Lee?” she asked, tugging his pressed white doctor’s coat.

“Heather…” Linda admonished.

“Just a second, Heather.” Finishing his notes, he swiftly clicked his pen and placed it in his front breast pocket. “Sometimes, the best medicine is good old fashioned sleep.”

“Mommy doesn’t like sleep.”

“I think your, for the next few days, your Mommy is going to have to learn to love sleeping. The more she sleeps, the better she’ll get,” he replied, glancing over at Linda. “Technically, I did prescribe cough syrup to your Mommy, though.”

“Can I sleep for Mommy and give my sleep to her?” Heather giggled.

Dr. Lee gave a wry smile at Heather’s quirky sense of humor. “That could help, though. I remember how much trouble your Mommy has sleeping. The quieter your apartment is, the more your Mommy might go to sleep. In fact, Heather, that could be your official job. Do you think you could do that?”

“Yes! I love sleeping. I can be with my Kitty and Paddington. I’m very warm under the covers.”

“Very good. I know you will take good care of your Mommy. But I also want to make sure you keep washing your hands, especially after you touch anything your Mommy does. That way, you can stay healthy, ok?”

Heather nodded.

Standing up, he repeated to Linda “Robitussin, Tylenol, bed rest and no alcohol or smoking—doctor’s orders. Do that and, I promise, you’ll feel better.” Offering Linda the glass lollypop jar, he said, ”so will, not one, but two lollypops, especially for that sore throat.” Reluctantly, Linda smiled. “You’ve been a very good patient.”

As she chose a green and an orange lollypop, Linda promised she would obey his orders. Per Heather’s request, he also let her choose a sticker, which she gave to Heather.

“Feel better, Linda.” He waved goodbye and, swiftly, walked down the hall to his next appointment.

Leaning against the frigid wall, Heather looked at her miserable mother. Mommy never got sick. “Mommy, are you gonna be ok?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’ll be ok, sweetie,” Linda reassured as she climbed down from the exam table, shivering again. “I just have to do what the doctor says.”

Thankful her evaluation had finished, she went to pay. The receptionist pleasantly surprised Linda, telling her that Dr. Lee only charged her for Heather’s exam. Exiting the building, she began her 18-block journey to the pharmacy and her apartment, sneezing and coughing all the while.


	36. Chapter 36

Linda arrived back at the apartment. In her hand, she carried a small white paper bag containing cough syrup, the elixir that the doctor said would help cure her.

As soon as Paul heard Linda’s keys jingling outside, he rushed to answer the door. “How was the doctor?” he asked.

Heather looked up at him, plainly saying “Mommy’s sick. She has the flu.”

Linda quickly added, “it’s nothing, really.” Still, she could see the worry in Paul’s face.

Heather hugged her mother’s legs. Hugs always made her feel better but she never got them when she was sick. Maybe a hug would make Mommy better.

“No, Heather, remember what the doctor said? You could get sick, too. Go wash your hands.”

Paul’s heart palpitated—he never liked it when anyone was sick. All he could think about was his Mum, who had died of breast cancer when he was just 14. He told himself, however, that it was just a cold. “Come ‘ead, treacle,” Paul encouraged, escorting her to the bathroom.

Finishing drying her hands on her sweater, Heather begged “I want you to get better, Mommy. You have to be a model.”

Linda was confused. “A model?”

“Dr. Lee said you were a model.”

“The doctor’s quite perceptive. Your Mummy’s very pretty,” Paul flirted, hanging up Linda’s jacket.

Flattered, Linda smiled, then sneezed. “He said I was a model patient, Heather. That means I was a good one,” she explained as her hands rubbed her upper arms. The drafty apartment was unbearably cold without the extra warmth of her jacket.

When Heather tried to reach for Linda’s black pea coat, Paul’s hand deftly interjected, smoothly marketing it as an opportunity to hold her hand. “You got two lollypops,” she reminded her mother.

“I did,” Linda agreed.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

Linda sighed, then sneezed twice as she shivered. She would have to take care of Heather while she was sick, which was not an easy feat. As she stood there, her body began to involuntarily shiver. “Let me go get a sweater. Then I’ll make you something.”

“You look knackered, Lin. And freezing. I think some rest would help.” Superstitious, Paul was careful to not tell Linda to go get “40 winks” like his Dad did when his Mum was sick.

“After I make something for Heather, I’ll lay down,” she insisted as she stepped toward the kitchen.

“I’ll make Heather something,” Paul offered as he blocked her path. Linda raised an eyebrow, remembering the omelet he made for Heather. Correcting himself, Paul clarified, “I’ll buy her something. How ‘bout pizza then?”

“Pizza!” Heather joyfully exclaimed.

“I’ll take good care of her, Lin. You get into your jim-jams. Even models need their beauty rest,” he winked.

His comment made Linda chuckle. Gratefully, she thanked Paul. The last time she was truly taken care of was by her mother in high school. Now, she had the opportunity to get some rest instead of feeling guilty about having to pawn Heather off on an available neighbor or a friend that happened to be in town.

“Want me to tuck you in, love?”

The half-smile on Linda’s face faded as she began coughing vigorously. Rushing to the kitchen, Paul brought her a glass of water. After taking a few sips, she winked “thank you but I think I’ll be ok.”

Looking down, Paul found that Heather had disappeared. ‘Where could she have gone?’ he wondered.

 

Linda stood in the bathroom with her plush white terrycloth robe that her mother gave her for one of their last Christmases together. The cool water soothed and cleaned her sweaty hands and face. As she stepped back into her bedroom, she bumped into Heather, who was standing by the doorway to the bathroom.

“Ooh!” she exclaimed after bumping into Heather. “I’m sorry, sweetie. It’s not good to stand in the doorway—you could get hurt.” Linda moved to sit on her bed, savoring the weight that the plush mattress and pillows could bear; her body ached miserably. Were the apartment not so cold, she could have fallen asleep right there. “I was going to get into my pajamas and go to bed. Could you give me some privacy, please?”

Heather intently looked at her mother as she hugged Kitty. Giving him a loving kiss, she then held out her arms. “Mommy, Kitty always makes me feel better. He’ll make you feel better, too.”

With pride, Linda beamed; her daughter was truly maturing. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Heather. Are you sure you won’t miss him?”

Cuddling her soft compatriot, Heather paused; how did Mommy know how much she loved him? Nuzzling Kitty, she reluctantly agreed.

Linda rolled off the bed to be closer to her daughter. Sitting on her aching knees, she looked Heather in the eyes. “Heather, I am very proud of you. What you just did is called being thoughtful. Do you know what that means?” Heather shook her head ‘no’. “It means you’re being kind and not selfish. You’re thinking of what would make someone else happy. If I wasn’t sick, I’d give you a big hug and kiss,” she smiled.

Flattered, Heather smiled, cheek-to-cheek with her stuffed best friend. Just as proud as his owner, he gave her a kiss.

Sneakily, Paul eavesdropped from the hallway. He, too, was both unsurprised and proud to discover that Linda was rubbing off on her daughter.

Linda loudly sneezing reminded Heather what the doctor had her promise earlier. “Mommy, you have to go to sleep and be a model,” she ordered.

“Model patient,” she chuckled. “The word ‘model’ means ideal or perfect.”

“But it means someone who wears clothes and something small. Why does it mean so many things?”

Linda sneezed again. “Some words are like that,” she explained as she rewrapped her robe around her aching body.

“Why?”

Seeing where this conversation would lead, Paul entered the room.

“I don’t know. That’s just the way the English language evolved.” Linda rubbed her watery eyes and throbbing forehead. All she wanted to do was go to bed. As soon as she saw Paul, her frustration eased.

Still not fully understanding, Heather persisted with her questions. Usually, Mommy was better at explaining things. “But why?”

“I’ll tell you later, Heather. I’m very tired and I have to go to bed.”

“I’ll tuck you in!” Heather suggested.

Paul heard Linda sigh. “Come ‘ead,” he encouraged, taking Heather’s hand. “Let’s leave Mummy so she can get some rest.” Gracefully, he handed Linda a glass of water.

Gazing up at Paul, she insisted “but I wanna help her. The doctor told me I have to! Kitty wants to help, too!”

Paul told Heather the best thing she could for her Mummy was to let her rest. Hurrying her, he told her to say goodnight.

Rubbing Kitty’s hind legs, she persisted “do you promise to sleep, Mommy?” Linda assured Heather she would, as she was exhausted. Satisfied, Heather continued “ok good. Kitty says feel better. Sweet dreams. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Heather.”

Before Heather left, Paul told her to think of somewhere they could go while Mummy slept for a few hours—he would be out in a minute.

Heather’s demeanor promptly changed from calm to disapproving. “No, you have to leave, too! Mommy has to sleep.”

“I’m just saying goodnight, too.” He then repeated, “I’ll be out in a minute. Why don’t you think of something to do while Mummy’s asleep?”

Crossing her arms, Heather didn’t budge. If adults could do whatever they wanted, then she could as well. She yelled, “it’s not fair that you get to stay longer! The doctor told me to take care of Mommy.”

Linda heaved a heavy sigh, the pressure from her sinuses intensifying on her forehead. “Heather, please don’t start. Please. Just do what Paul says. I know the doctor would be very, very proud at how you’ve taken care of me so far.”

Hearing her mother’s response pacified her anger and possessiveness.

“You’ve done a very good job, Heather. The doctor’d be pleased that your Mum has two people taking care of her instead of just one. That’s twice as much help! I’ll be out in a minute.”

With that praise, Heather wished her mother well, then left to play with Kitty.

When Heather was out of earshot, Linda breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief. Standing beside her in bed, Paul reiterated his plan to take Heather out for a few hours so Linda could sleep in peace.

“Thank you,” Linda said gratefully.

“You’re welcome, love. Have you taken your tablets and what’s in that little white bag?” Paul asked, motioning his head toward Linda’s nightstand.

Guiltily, Linda said “no”.

Nervously, Paul gulped. “Come ‘ead, then,” he said, reaching for the bag containing the bottle of cough syrup.

“Paul,” Linda protested.

“Alright, Lin,” he relented. “Then promise me you’ll do that. I don’t want you to be poorly.” Linda raised an eyebrow. “Unwell. I want you to get better, love. Do you need anything while we’re out?”

Linda’s persistent cough muffled the last part of Paul’s question. Practically hacking a lung resulted in her spitting up phlegm. “Thanks, Paul, but I just need sleep.”

“That sparkle from your beautiful eyes is gone. I’m glad you’re going to get some kip…and take your medicine,” he reminded her. “Would you like some tea?” Linda shook her head ‘no’. Wistfully, Paul told her “I wish I could give you a kiss on your rosy pink lips or hold those beautiful, long, slender fingers…”

Linda’s heart raced as her lips could no longer contain her smile. “You’re sweet,” she said, then sneezed.

“Bless you,” he said, handing her a tissue. “You sneezed so it must be true,” Paul quickly followed.

Linda chuckled. “Could you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Could you turn up the thermostat? I’m under all the covers I’ve got but I’m still freezing. It’s in the living room near the front door. Just nudge it up a tiny, tiny bit. I don’t like turning it up but it’s too cold in here.”

“Your wish is my command, madam,” he said, lowering his voice and bowing. His gestures and the timbre of his voice made Linda laugh again.

“Would you like another blanket?”

“I would,” Linda frowned. “But I don’t have any more.”

Paul pushed the hair out of her face, then walked to the door. Stepping into the hallway, he instructed, “sleep tight, love. Sweet dreams,” then shut the door.

Immediately, Paul raised the thermostat to ensure Linda’s comfort. Scanning the living room for Heather, he found her quietly sitting on the floor while intently coloring. “What’re you coloring?”

Heather ignored his question. “Is Mommy gonna get better? The doctor said she would.”

Paul hesitated, not wanting to make any false promises. “Your Mum’s going to follow doctor’s orders and get rest,” he told her as he walked over to where Heather planted herself. “We’ll get pizza and when we come back, we’ll see how she’s feeling.”

“Mommy never gets sick.”

He sat beside her, noticing the chill of the carpet. “Everyone gets sick sometimes, Heather.”

Heather leaned in, asking “even you?”

“Even me,” Paul assured her.

Heather sat silently, continuing to color. She needed to do something to make Mommy get better, and quick.

“You want to go for pizza, then?...Heather?...Heather?”

Realizing that Paul was calling her name, she perked up. She had found the answer! “Mommy gives me matzo ball soup when I’m sick,” she said. “Can we go get some for her?”

Paul reviewed the words he heard Heather utter, searching his mental dictionary. “What kind of soup?”

“Matzo ball soup,” she repeated.

The words were foreign to Paul. “What is that? What’s it have in it?”

“A big big matzo ball. Mommy cuts it for me and gives me the soup whenever I’m sick. It always makes me feel better and it’s so yummy. I want it all the time but Mommy says I can’t. Can we get some?” she begged.

Paul repeated the name of the soup as if the words were not real.

“Can we get some for Mommy? It’ll make her feel better.”

“Sure. But where can we get some?”

Heather shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe Joey the doorman will know.”

“That’s a good idea, Heather. We’ll ask him on the way out. Any idea where we’re going? What about the playground in the park?”

“But you said we’d have pizza.” Heather never forgot a promise involving one of her favorite foods.

“Oh, right,” Paul forgot. “We’ll get some pizza and then what’re we going to do?”

“Get soup for Mommy.”

“Well,” Paul reasoned, “that won’t take much time. I wanted your Mummy to get some sleep while we’re out. The apartment’ll be nice and quiet. How about we both think of something to do after we eat pizza and, after that, we’ll get Mummy her soup. Sound good?” Enthusiastically, Heather nodded her head. “Brilliant. Come ‘ead, let’s get your coat.”

Skipping down the hall, Heather rushed to push the down button. In the elevator, they sang “Twenty Flight Rock”, beginning their joyful afternoon adventures in the city.


	37. Chapter 37

Heather and Paul arrived home in the early evening. In her white terrycloth robe, her green paisley pajamas and a turtleneck she had grabbed from her dirty laundry, Linda stood at the stove putting the kettle on.

“Mommy, you’re not in bed!”

“What happened to being a model, then?” Paul asked, white plastic bag in hand.

“Modeling’s just not for me,” she shrugged.

“Mommy, we got you a surprise. Open it! Open it!”

Touched, Linda smiled. “You got me a surprise? Thank you, Heather. Thank you, Paul.”

“It was Heather’s idea, really. Go on and open it but be careful.”

With a raised eyebrow, Linda took the bag. Setting it on the counter, she opened the plastic bag and then the paper bag. Feeling the package’s heat, she carefully lifted one of the styrofoam containers. The delicious scent of rich chicken broth wafted through her stuffed nose, a pleasant and comforting surprise. Excitedly, Linda knew what she would find in the other one. “It’s matzo ball soup!” she smiled.

Heather jumped up and down. “You like it!”

“I do! I’m proud you’re being so thoughtful, Heather.” Heather thanked her mother and bashfully turned away into Paul’s right leg. Linda explained to Paul “this is what I give Heather as a treat when she’s sick. It always makes her feel better.”

Putting his hand on Heather’s head, he told Linda “Heather wanted you to feel better, Lin. And she remembered that the soup did the trick.”

“Thank you. I’m going to heat some up.”

“Mommy, you can talk again.”

“Yeah, a little bit more.” Bending down to find a pot, she sneezed, then asked “what did you do while I was asleep?”

Jeans material in hand, Heather looked up to ask Paul “what about the other present?” Paul put his index finger to his lips, silencing Heather.

“Pa—“ Linda stopped mid-word. “Where’d Paul go?” In response to her mother’s question, Heather unsuccessfully attempted to stifle her giggles. Heather’s reaction gave it away—Paul had a surprise for her. “How was your afternoon?”

“Mommy, we had pizza at Mimi’s and it was yummy.”

Scooping a portion of one of the two gigantic matzo balls into the small pot, Linda asked, “what kind of pizza did you have?”

“Cheese. Paul had pizza with lots of yucky stuff on it like onions. But then we went to play in the park. Paul pushed me on the swings and I went on the swirly slide and the regular one a zillion times. We walked across the park to the subway! Mommy, Central Park is so so big. It took forever!”

Paul entered the kitchen, bag in hand. Patiently, he let Heather finish her story.

“And then Paul let me give the money to the lady and she gave us tickets!”

Linda sneezed twice, then commented “it sounds like you had fun.”

“Bless you,” Paul smiled back at Linda, showing her the oversized bag. “For you,” he said.

“You didn’t have to do that, Paul. I don’t need anything.”

Nodding his head, he told her that he was sure she could use it. In the bag, Linda found a warm chartreuse blanket with white flowers and leaves.

“For keeping you warm when I can’t,” Paul explained. Linda’s thank you fell on deaf ears, as Heather interrupted, exclaiming, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy, guess what! I picked that one! Do you like it?”

“I love it, Heather. Thank you.”

Moving closer to her mother, Heather insisted she return to bed so she could use it. Paul echoed her idea.

Linda shook her head ‘no’ as she poured some soup into the pot. “I’ve spent enough time in bed. I’m going to have soup and hot tea. Do you want tea, Paul?”

“Ta, love. Are you sure you don’t want me to get it for you?”

“Mommy, I want a cup, too.”

Taken aback, Linda asked, “you do? Ok, I’ll make one for you then.”

“Thank you! Mommy, I’m going to go finish my surprise for you so you get better.” Determined, Heather rushed out of the kitchen to grab her markers and crayons.

 

In the morning, Paul wakes Heather. She asks if mommy is better and Paul says that she is getting better. When she asks to see her, Paul says that he doesn’t want to wake her because she needs the rest. Heather pouts, saying that Paul is trying to get her to not talk to her mom. Heather looks at her mother sleeping before she leaves for school. She is angry that Paul wouldn’t let her talk to mommy.

The next morning, Paul awoke Heather with great difficulty. He promised her that, if she would get up and be very quiet while getting ready, he would give her a piggyback ride all the way to school.

“Is mommy all better?” she whispered.

“Not yet, but she’s getting there.” 

That was not what Heather wanted to hear. She desperately wanted the doctor to be wrong.

“The best thing to let her do is rest. Mummy’s lucky she has two doctors to take care of her at home.”

 

After her shower, Linda felt refreshed yet tired. She wasn’t the only one—she found Paul asleep on the love seat. Sinking into the bed with her hair in a towel, she promptly fell asleep.

Waking up in a frenzy, Paul looked at his watch—it was only 11:30 AM. He still had plenty of time to take Linda’s washing to the fluff and fold. Checking on Linda, he found her sound asleep. Except for her heavy breathing, the room was silent. He moved the blankets on his side of the bed to cover Linda.

Trying to gather the laundry as quickly as he could, he waddled all the way to the fluff and fold. When he came back, Linda had awoken.

“I was wondering where you went. Did you go out for a walk?”

“Yeah,” Paul lied, shivering involuntarily.

“I hope you’re not getting sick, too, Paul.”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t think so, love. I never get sick. Touch wood. I just came back from taking a walk.”

“It’s almost time to pick up Heather,” Linda yawned. “What adventure are you going on after school today?”

“Hmm…” he considered. “I’m not sure, really. Any ideas?”

Linda coughed, then took a sip of her cold tea. “Heather mentioned that she wanted to go to Macy’s. Every once in a while, we go there so she can ride the wooden escalator. Heather’s fascinated by watching each wooden board go back into the floor. And at Christmas, she loves looking at the window displays.”

“What window displays?”

“There’s a film called Miracle on 34th Street that is about if the department store Santa is the real Santa Claus. Macy’s has two displays. The one on 34th Street depicts the film, which takes place at Macy’s. The other windows are on Broadway. Those are new every year.” Yawning again, she continued, “we go every year to see. Heather’s always loved the Christmas lights and music and all the decorations.”

“Mmm, that sounds lovely.”

After blowing her nose, she asked “will you give Heather a hug for me?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “When can I give you that kiss then?”

“As soon as I stop coughing and sneezing. I hope it’s soon,” Linda hoped, making a perfect three-pointer with her tissue.

“Let me get you some more tea, Lin,” Paul said as he dashed to the kitchen.

“While you’re up, can you bring something to eat, too?” Linda asked loudly.

“Of course, love,” he yelled back from the kitchen.

“Nothing complicated, though. Just some crackers or an apple or something like that.”

 

Paul made the short trek to pick up Heather at school, walking briskly. He was one of the last to arrive there; time had gotten away from him when preparing a snack for Linda. He found her waiting patiently on the steps with a few other children. Though the children were dressed the same, their ages and activities varied from falling asleep to reading a book to laughing and joking around. One was even knitting. Heather was patiently waiting, looking at the ground while hugging her knees for warmth.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice. She looked up.

“Where were you?!”

“I ran a bit late. I was talking to mummy before I left and she asked me to make her something to eat. We didn’t realize the time.”

“You forgot me,” Heather frowned.

“I didn’t forget you, Heather. I’m sorry that I made you feel like that. I was cooking for Mummy. I’m not the best at cooking. Remember that terrible omelet I made?”

Heather nodded. “It tasted like burnt cinnamon.”

“It was awful. But I didn’t forget about you and neither did Mummy. Practically the first thing that she did was remind me to pick you up from school.”

“Is she better?”

“I think so. She slept a lot this afternoon. And she didn’t really seem like she wanted to eat anything last night but she does now, which is very good. I remember me mum used to say ‘feed a cold, starve a fever.’”

Not fully understanding, Heather nodded her head.

“Mummy suggested we go see the windows at Macy’s. She also told me how much you like writing the escalator there, too. So how about it?”

 

Heather stopped to stare at a display of clothes from behind, then commented “it looks like a monster.”

“You mean a monster that goes like this?” Paul took a step toward Heather, pretending to be a Tyrannosaurus Rex, with his arms outstretched and his hands posted like claws. He growled and roared, making Heather laugh.

As he took another step toward her, Heather headed for the escalator. Paul quickly followed, standing two steps above her. Every attempt Paul made to get closer made Heather run further down the wooden escalator. Customers in the store gave looks of surprise, amusement or derision to see the bearded man chasing a laughing, blonde-haired little girl.

He chased Heather down two escalators and headed for a third. Heather scampered down the third, unaware of her surroundings. In her haste to run to the fourth escalator, she bumped into a saucer-hatted, portly older woman carrying a bushel of bags and gift-wrapped boxes. They scattered far and wide across the wooden floor. Having been hit with such force, the woman nearly lost her balance.

With a look of guilt, Heather stood in stunned silence. Paul rushed down the escalator, helping the woman retrieve her packages.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Paul asked as he handed her two large red rectangular packages wrapped with white bows.

The portly woman sternly accepted her packages, still in a huff that someone could be so irresponsible. It figured, though, seeing as he was a bearded hippie—those people had no respect for authority and, certainly, no manners. “Your daughter hit me so hard that I almost fell and broke my hip! She needs to watch where she’s going! A Dalton girl should surely know better. I can hardly believe they even accepted her,” she scolded. “This is a department store, not a playground! She owes me an apology.”

Though displeased with the woman’s haughty and entitled attitude, Paul couldn’t help but smile at the fact that she had assumed he was Heather’s father.

A short, suited man with a name tag rushed to the scene, where a small crowd had formed. Other customers were trying their best to ignore it. “Is everything alright here, Mrs. Davenport?”

“No, it most certainly is not,” emphasized the older woman, dressed in a dark purple jacket and skirt ensemble. “This hooligan’s daughter bumped into me, causing my gift-wrapped packages and bags to go everywhere. Thank God there wasn’t something fragile in there or else it would have been shattered into a million tiny pieces! She owes me an apology. You’re the manager—DO SOMETHING!”

Looking down with her arms crossed, Heather quietly uttered a humble and fearful, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it.” She could feel the other customers in the store staring at her. This was not the kind of attention she wanted.

The woman straightened her lilac hat and made sure her pearls were still around her neck—hippies would try to steal anything. Stepping closer to Heather, she looked down at her and demanded, “when you apologize, you’re supposed to look at the person to whom you are apologizing. Say it again.”

Heather turned to Paul, her heart pounding. Flush with embarrassment and intimidation, she knew she was in trouble.

“It was my fault, actually,” Paul interjected as he instinctively pulled Heather closer to protect her. “You see, we, we were having fun on the escalator. I was pretending to be a monster so I chased her. She ran down too quickly and that’s why she bumped into you. Don’t blame her—blame me. I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. It was an accident.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Chasing her?! What an irresponsible father you are! Why would you chase your daughter?!” She muttered “figures” under her breath.

Frightened, Heather partially hid behind Paul; she wished that Kitty was there—he would comfort her with his little legs and his soft stuffed animal fur. Why was the woman still angry? She said she was sorry. And why were all these people still watching?

Paul tamped his resentment, explaining, “we were just having fun. That’s what you do with kids—you have fun with ‘em and you play with ‘em. That’s what makes ‘em so brilliant! Heather’s a very good girl, ma’am. It was an honest accident.”

“Yes, well, that still doesn’t excuse her behavior. I’m still waiting for her apology,” she sneered, impatiently tapping her foot.

Hoping that if she was brave enough to say she was sorry that everyone would stop fighting, she tried again. “I’m sorry,” she said again, louder, but still with a warble in her voice. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.” Her sheepishness got the best of her, though—she was still unable to look the old lady in the eye, preferring to stare at her knobbly knees, spider veins and black leather dressy flats.

Paul could feel Heather’s grip on his leg tighten. Without another thought, he bent down to pick her up. Resting on his right shoulder, he heard Heather let out a sigh; still, her arms that hugged him were tense. “I wanna go home,” she squeaked. In response, Paul gave her an empathetic kiss on her cheek.

Hearing that, in his heart, the store manager sided with the little girl. She was practically clinging to her father as he comforted her and whispered something in her ear. Mrs. Davenport had made a mountain out of a molehill.

“She’s just a child!” Paul defended. “It’s my fault, not hers. Still, she’s said she was sorry. Twice. Can’t you see how frightened she is? What more do you want, eh?!”

The words rolled off Mrs. Davenport’s tongue—“leave the store.” She, selfishly, claimed that, as one of the store’s best customers, she would not feel comfortable continuing to shop there.

Knowing that Mrs. Davenport was right, the store manager had but no choice acquiesce, telling Paul “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you and your daughter to leave. We cannot have people with this level of irresponsibility in our store.”

With heavy guilt, the manager silently escorted Paul and Heather down the escalator, seeing them to the Broadway entrance. Swiftly, he closed the doors behind them, concentrating on everything but what had just occurred.

After a few paces down the sidewalk, he stopped to set Heather down. “I’m sorry, Heather,” he said, looking her in the eye. “It was my fault we got kicked out.” Disappointed and still a bit shaken from being publicly reprimanded and from the yelling, Heather stayed silent. “I was the one who was irresponsible. As rude as that woman was, she was right—we shouldn’t‘ve been messin’ about in a place that wasn’t a playground.”

Looking away from Paul, she asked “are you gonna tell Mommy?”

Paul hesitated, interlocking his fingers. “Well, I have to, really.”

“Why?” Heather whined. “I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“Because your Mummy and I love each other. When you love someone, you’re always honest. I can’t lie to her, Heather.”

Heather pouted, crossing her arms. “You wanna get me in trouble! That’s not fair!”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble. You did the right thing by apologizing for bumping into that woman. In fact, you apologized twice! It’s not your fault that she didn’t accept the apologies you gave. I’ll tell Mummy what happened. If I hadn’t been chasing you, you never would’ve bumped into her.”

Horns and the sound of people walking past filled the silence. Heather looked across the street at the swaying branches of the oak trees. “I don’t like being yelled at,” she mumbled. “I get really scared when people yell.”

“I don’t think anyone does, really. I’ll stick up for you, Heather. Honest,” Paul assured her. “Alright then?”

Heather stayed quiet, vigorously rubbing her hands up and down her arms to keep herself warm in the chilly autumn air.

Handing Heather her black pea coat, Paul encouraged her to put it on. Heather eagerly did as she was instructed, stretching the material as far as it would go around her petite frame.

“Give us a kiss?” Paul asked. He could see Heather hesitating while she shivered. “A hug then? You look quite cold.” On the sidewalk, Heather remained in place. “It’s not your fault, Heather. You did the best you could to apologize and that’s all that matters,” he reassured. “I’m sorry you got yelled at and I’m sorry I got you kicked out of a place that you very much wanted to go. We can come back tomorrow after school. When we do, I won’t do anything to get you into trouble. Forgive me?”

Paul’s apology mitigated but did not quell Heather’s anger. Her small frame, however, forced Heather to give into her body’s shivers, giving Paul a hug out of necessity. Once in his arms, she remained there, sniffling. In an attempt to comfort her, Paul rubbed her back.

Putting on a cheerful face, he said, “let’s take the train to the deli to get Mummy some more soup. Want me to pick you up?” Paul felt Heather’s head nodding against his right shoulder. Along the way, he tried to make conversation. Heather did not participate, still shaken from the public reprimanding she had received earlier. Her reasoning was that if she did not talk, she could not get in trouble. Still being mad at Paul helped, though.

Paul carried her to the train station and down the stairs. When Heather had warmed thoroughly enough, she slid out of Paul’s arms. Not wanting to lose her amongst the chaos of the subway, he took her hand as she quickly skirted through the turnstile.

While riding, Heather focused on the noises on the train—the click of the track, the squeaks when the train stopped and, sometimes, the musicians in the subway when the train doors opened. After a few stops, she heard Paul ask “excuse me, sir, where’s the closest park?”

“Madison Square Park.” The man concentrated harder on his paper.

“How do you get there?”

The man heaved a heavy sigh. “Get off at the next stop. Make a left on 23rd when you get outta the station,” he gruffly replied.

“Thank you,” Paul replied. Heather was curious—Paul said they were going to get Mommy some soup. Why were they going to the park? Her question was answered when she heard Paul speak to a woman.

“I thought going to the playground’d make you feel better,” he smiled. Looking down, Heather shook her head no. “You’re not going to get in trouble here. There are lots of children having fun over there. Don’t you want to join in? It’d be fun to run around with them.” Again, Heather shook her head no. “Why not?”

“Because I wanted to go ride the escalators! I wanna ride the escalators!” she screamed. “Mommy’s awake, I bet. You don’t want me to see her but I really really want to! You’re a liar!” As she ran away, Heather could feel the tears emerging from her eyes.

Worried, Paul ran after her. “Stop!” he yelled. His reprimand made Heather run further. Paul struggled to keep up with her, as he was a smoker who was desperately out of shape.

Finally, after they were both sweaty and exhausted, Paul slowly jogged over to Heather. She began slowly running again but Paul’s long strides made it easy for him to catch her.

Still, out of breath, he panted while sternly telling Heather, “that’s not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to run around! I could’ve lost you in the park!”

“I DON’T CARE!” Heather yelled while stamping her feet.

A wince of disappointment appeared on Paul’s face. He did not want to reprimand Heather; he was not her father. On the other hand, she did something that she knew was wrong. How could he walk that fine line? In the brief silence, Heather began to run away again. Paul caught up, firmly taking her by the hand this time. “We’re going to the deli and then we’re going home,” he ordered as he began walking. Heather would not let him, though; she had planted her feet firmly on the yellowing grass. “Stop stalling and come ‘ead,” he curtly ordered again.

“NO! Let me go!” Heather yelled as she struggled to release her hand from Paul’s firm grip.

“I can’t because the last time I did, you ran away. It was across a field in a park but what if it had been across the street?” he asked her with concern. “You could’ve gotten hurt! I’m responsible for looking after you and I want to make sure you get home safely to Mummy.”

“I wouldn’t run across the street!” Heather bit her lip, then shouted “let go!”

“No,” Paul hotly responded.

“I’m gonna tell Mommy that you were being mean! LET ME GO!”

Onlookers were beginning to give unwelcome stares. His normally sunny attitude had worn thin. Paul had only experienced this situation from afar; he always felt badly for the child when he saw a one putting up a fight. Though, now, he empathized with the caretakers. The only way to get Heather to move was to pick her up, though he knew his actions could be misconstrued because of his looks—a scruffy man with an army jacket.

Feeling as though his arm was slowly being ripped out of its socket, Paul picked Heather up. As expected, she screamed and protested to be put down. What Paul did not expect, however, was being kicked in the upper thigh and hip. “STOP IT,” he harshly and tightly demanded. His demands incited Heather to protest further as she was carried across the grass on which she, only moments ago, ran freely. Paul ignored her yelps and insults until, eventually, Heather gave up.

Her only words for the rest of the journey were to thank the man behind the bakery counter at the deli, who insisted on giving “something sweet to a sweet little girl”.

When they returned to the apartment, Linda was milling about as if she was going stir-crazy. Thankful to be out of Paul’s tight and increasingly sweaty hand, Heather pushed her way through the door opening. Well aware that she would be in trouble for how she behaved, she scurried off to her bedroom.

As soon as Linda saw how eager Heather was to get away from Paul, she knew something was wrong.

“And how’s our lovely patient today?” Paul asked, putting on his press face. “I brought you some more soup.”

Linda sneezed, then thanked Paul for his gesture. As she put it in the refrigerator, she removed the rest of the soup from yesterday. “How was Macy’s?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

“Interesting. It was different than most British department stores. Macy’s was quite busy,” he said. “How was your afternoon, Lin? You should be in bed, eh? Doctor’s orders.”

“I’m better than I was but,” she hacked. “I’ve been in bed enough for today.” Linda bent down to search for a small pot in which to heat the soup.

Paul frowned. “It doesn’t sound it, though. I’ll heat the soup for you, love,” he insisted. “You sound tired of being sick.”

“I am,” Linda sighed, then coughed. “I hate lying in bed all day. I’d rather be out doing something. At least I can organize some of my photos while I’m stuck in here. Been meaning to do that for a while now. Did Heather enjoy Macy’s?”

“For most of the time that we were there she did,” Paul admitted. Linda gave a quizzical expression. “We were on one floor and Heather was looking up at something. She mentioned that it looked like a monster so…so I started chasing her like I was a dinosaur.”

As Paul demonstrated his dinosaur impression, Linda laughed. Remembering that he promised Linda that he would warm the soup for her, he took the container of broth and poured it into the pan. He plonked the large matzo ball into the pot afterward, causing broth to splatter across the counter, onto Linda’s pajamas and his sweater. Linda reached for the sponge to clean up Paul’s mess.

“I’m getting better, aren’t I? I’m much more useful in the kitchen these days.” Paul commented as he turned the burner onto high.

“You’re making progress,” she smiled. “But you might want to turn it down to low—otherwise the soup’ll scorch, Chef Paul.” After consecutive sneezes, Linda reiterated “so, you were chasing Heather…”

“And she bumped into an old woman who was carrying a lot of packages. She apologized but the woman just wouldn’t accept her apology. She kept sayin’ things like ‘no, you have to look at me when you say it’ and ‘a Dalton girl should know better’. But my favorite was when she asked me what kind of irresponsible father I was,” he beamed. “I tried tellin’ her that it was my fault because I was the one who was chasin’ her. But she just wouldn’t accept it. It was horrible! And then the store manager came over and asked if everything was alright. That awful woman made Heather apologize again so she did. She was frightened, Lin. She was holdin’ onto me leg, just terrified so I picked her up. Heather told me she wanted to go home. I tried explaining to the manager that it was my fault but the woman made herself out to be all important-like. She put on this whole ‘I’m a loyal customer’ show.”

“Ugh, I can’t stand people like that,” Linda commented, clearing her throat. She poured herself another cup of tea from the freshly heated water on the stove.

“Me too. But, she won out. The manager kicked us out of the store.”

Linda burst out laughing, which she immediately tried to stifle. “Sorry Paul,” she meekly apologized. The conversation paused for a moment as she coughed, expectorating some of the phlegm from her chest. “It’s just funny to hear you say that.” As she shook her head and laughed, she said “…a Beatle getting kicked out of a store.” 

“Well, it happened,” Paul sternly added.

Linda had touched on a nerve. “Alright, I’ll stop.” Linda asked, “what happened after that?”

Paul recounted the next events that followed to Linda, unable to look at her while doing so. Her eyebrows lowered with anger. “Heather Louise Eastman!”

Heather cringed as she strangled Kitty, her protector. She walked to the kitchen with her panicked head looking down at her light blue socks. Furious, Linda scolded Heather for disobeying Paul, running away from him and being disrespectful. Paul’s heart broke as he saw Heather standing there, frightened and alone. Though he desperately wanted to interject to make Heather’s actions look better than he had described, he knew that he shouldn’t—discipline was, rightly, Linda’s department. He also couldn’t think of anything to say to defend Heather; no matter how he tried to couch the situation, her actions were wrong.

“Go to your room, Heather. NOW!”

Looking up, with tears in her eyes, she turned to Paul. “THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” she yelled. “You said you wouldn’t get me in trouble and I did! I hate you!” With that final dig, she turned and ran to her room, letting out pained sobs.

Seeing that Paul was frozen with his eyes looking toward Heather’s room, Linda began to stir the soup, trying her best to ignore the noise. Though she knew Paul wouldn’t, she could tell that he desperately wanted to rush to Heather’s side to comfort her.

 

After Heather’s wails had subsided to silent tears, she whispered, “at least you love me, Kitty.” With Kitty at her ear, Heather imagined that he whispered, “I love you” back to her.

Heather fluffed her pillow. The dampness from her tears reminded her why she was in her room. As she heard drones of her mother’s and Paul’s voice from the kitchen, she tried to estimate when her mother would punish her. What would she take away?—cookies? Bedtime stories? Playtime? Though, in vain, she hoped that if she apologized Mommy would just give her a warning.

Heather chose to make herself feel better by building herself, Kitty and Paddington a fort with her blankets. Those at the edge of the bed were layered onto the ones that enveloped her small frame. With a relaxing sigh, Heather closed her eyes; the softness surrounding her lifted her spirits. Her heart soaked in every ounce of happiness she could muster, attempting to quash the creeping sense of dread when her mother arrived.

 

“Heather, sit up,” Linda ordered.

Rubbing her eyes, Heather instantly awoke from her uncomfortable half-slumber. ‘Mommy sounds really mad,’ she thought. As she groaned, the feeling of Kitty, her fierce protector, under her right arm reassured her. Paddington was there, too, but because Paul gave him to her, she was unsure if he supported her.

Slouching, Heather briefly looked at her mother from the side of her eyes, then instantly back to Kitty.

“I am very very disappointed in you, Heather.”

Heather gulped.

“You did things today that you know you shouldn’t have done.”

A hole of dread grew in her stomach. Her punishment was coming soon.

“After you got kicked out of Macy’s, Paul felt badly so he tried to make you feel better by taking you to a playground. And, then, you got angry and ran away from him! What if that had been a busy street?”

“But it wasn’t!”

“That doesn’t matter. When I leave you with someone, no matter who it is, that is the person who’s in charge of you and who has your best interest at heart. They’re the person who you listen to and you treat them with respect. You didn’t do any of that for Paul today—you were rude and ungrateful for everything that Paul did for you, including defending you to the woman who yelled at you in Macy’s. You even told Paul you hated him! Do you think that’s right?” 

Heather pressed Kitty close to her chest as she shook her head ‘no’.

“What was the last thing the doctor said to you on Tuesday?”

The memory caused Heather’s head to sink even lower. “Take care of Mommy,” she told her mother.

Linda sneezed twice, then probingly asked “do you think Dr. Lee would be happy?”

Heather shook her head ‘no’ as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“You started real school last month, Heather. You have a birthday in December. You are going to be six years old, Heather. Six. You need to start acting like a big girl.”

As Heather bit her lip, she tasted the saltiness of the solitary tear that drifted there. Mommy’s reaction reminded her of the woman she bumped into earlier that afternoon, instilling a renewed sense of fear and shame. This time, thankfully, Kitty was there to help as she wiped away her tears.

“I want you to think about why what you did this afternoon was wrong. You owe Paul and apology for what you did. And when you apologize, I want you to tell him why what you did was wrong.”

Unable to look at her mother, she quietly explained, “but I don’t know what to say. Can you help me, Mommy?”

“No, Heather. You know what you did wrong. You can come up with one by yourself.”

‘What am I going to say?’ panicked Heather. ‘Mommy always helps me, even when she’s mad.’

Linda interrupted her thoughts, sternly telling her “no playtime, bedtime tuck-in, bedtime story or dessert. Tonight and tomorrow.” Afterward, Linda disappeared, leaving Heather surrounded by guilt and loneliness.


	38. Chapter 38

Heather rummaged through her toy crate as quietly as she could. Mommy peeked her head in, telling her to stop it or she would take her toys away. Promptly, Heather stopped. Lucky for her, the rummaging turned up her crayons and a coloring book. Heather sat on her bed coloring, overly concentrating on the motions of her brown crayon on the page as Paddington loyally watched. Kitty lay on the opposite side of the bed, carelessly buried under the warm blankets. Right now, Paddington loved her more.

Paul entered Heather’s room and sat beside her on the bed. He overheard Linda say that Heather would have to apologize to him but had a feeling that she was too bashful and ashamed to approach him. Paul decided to meet her half way. “Hello, Heather,” he said, box of tissues in hand.

Heather gasped, immediately attempting to hide the coloring book.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologized. Leaning closer, Paul whispered, “I won’t tell, Heather. Honest.” The corners of Heather’s mouth slightly raised; without another word, she put her coloring book and crayons away.

“Are you mad at me, too?” she asked, then blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

“Not mad just…disappointed, I guess.”

She set her tissue down on the bed. “That’s what Mommy said she was,” she said, scratching behind Paddington’s ears. “I don’t like that word.”

Looking around, Paul noticed Kitty was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Kitty?”

“Under the covers. He’s mad.”

“Why?”

Heather stared into Paddington’s eyes, then gave him a tight hug. Ignoring Paul’s question, she declared, “Paddington loves me more.”

“Kitty loves you just as much as Paddington,” he assured. “You and Kitty go way back. He’s your best mate.”

“Not any more. He’s mad at me now. I don’t like it when people are mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, Heather. Mad and disappointed are two different emotions.”

“How?”

“Well,” Paul started “mad means that you’re angry about something. You’re very…’grrrrr mad’.”

“Like a tiger?” Heather innocently asked.

“Yes,” Paul slightly giggled. “Disappointed means that you’re sad because something upsetting happened. Like, if you went to the cinema to see a film you’d been wanting to see for ages and, when you got there, there were no more tickets left.”

“Oh. Why are you disappointed?”

He paused, deciding how he should phrase it. Looking at Heather, he told her “because you hurt my feelings. You called me a liar and told me that you hated me. Those aren’t nice things to say.”

Heather frowned as her lower lip trembled and heart began to race as his words sunk in; she had let down the man who had been nothing but warm and compassionate during the few days she had known him. “I’m really sorry, Paul” she meekly apologized, unable to look him in the eye. “I said that I hated you but I don’t. And you’re not a liar. You’re a nice person. You play me songs and tell me jokes and play with me. I have fun wih you.” With Paddington in hand, she moved to hug him in the hopes that he would hug back.

Without hesitation, Paul returned the hug, gratefully assured that Heather still loved him. Had he been Heather’s daddy, he would have stopped the conversation right there. Linda, however, would not approve; for her sake, he continued.

Heather felt Paul rub her back, taking it as a sign that he was no longer disappointed. She was still confused as to what else she could say to Paul. Maybe he could help her. “Mommy told me I had to apologize and tell you why I was sorry but…but I don’t know what to say.”

“You already said ‘I’m sorry’ for what you did, which is a good start to any apology.”

Heather ended their embrace. Looking at Paul, she asked, “why does Mommy want me to tell you I was wrong?”

“I bet Mummy wants you to think about why what you did was wrong. That way, you can learn for next time.”

“I know that I was bad.”

“Why did you do it, then?”

Heather paused in thought, then shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she explained. “I was mad because I wanted to see the escalators. That lady was so mean! She kept yelling and then all those people watched.”

“I know you were upset that you didn’t get to see as much of the department store as you would’ve liked. That was all my fault and I’m very sorry. I could tell how frightened you were when that woman you bumped into was causing a scene. But you took it on the chin and…”

“What’s that mean?”

“You handled the situation very well. You were gracious and did as you were asked, even when that woman was being rude. You should be very proud of yourself for that.”

“Thank you,” she smiled with restraint.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled back. Turning serious again, he continued, “after we got kicked out, I figured that you’d enjoy running around on the playground ‘cause that’s what you’re supposed to do there. I got quite frightened when you ran away in the park. I didn’t want you to run into the street—you could’ve gotten hurt! I’d be right gutted if that happened. Mummy trusted me to take good care of you and I wanted to make sure I did that.”

Though Paul wasn’t yelling, what he told Heather made her feel guilty and embarrassed; heart beat quicker against her chest. “Can you see where I’m coming from?”

Heather shook her head ‘yes’, realizing that Paul wanted her to be ok, just like Mommy did. Except he was being nicer than her Mommy was right now—she didn’t even get hurt in the park! Paul did seem to truly want her to be safe. “I’m sorry I ran away and I’m sorry I was mean to you. You were being nice. You’re my friend and I love you.”

“I love you, too, Heather,” Paul beamed as he held Heather. She placed a small kiss on his right cheek, which Paul, joyfully, returned. “If Mummy lets us, tomorrow, we’ll go back to Macy’s and ride the escalators. I’ll be on my best behavior if you will. Does that sound alright?”

Heather nodded her head ‘yes’ as she gave Paddington a cuddle.

“Brilliant.”

Silence settled but was filled quickly with the sound of the pipes and the windows rattling from the brusque gust of wind. Slowly, Paul’s hug healed the wound of Mommy’s anger. About a minute later, the embrace ended but concerns remained.

“Paul?” she shakily asked.

“Hmm?”

“What if I never get to ride the escalators again?”

Paul tilted his head to the side in thought. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because what if we never come back here?” Heather asked as she adjusted the buttons on Paddington’s coat.

“We will. Heather. Your Mummy’s family is here—grandma, grandpa, her brother and sisters…

“Do you promise we’ll come back?”

“Yes, I promise.”

The phone rang. Paul ignored it.

“Can you make Mommy stop being mad at me?”

“I wish,” he regretfully answered.

Heather grabbed another tissue from the box, hoping that Paul wouldn’t leave to answer the call. “It’s not fair. I didn’t get hurt when I ran away! And I said I’m sorry to her and to you. I don’t want Mommy to be mad.”

Paul sat for a few moments, dithering how he was going to help Heather while not betraying Linda’s role as a parent. “I think this is one you’re going to have to figure out on your own. This is between you and Mummy.”

“But I want you to help!” she begged. Heather felt her eyes start to well up.

Paul frowned as he thought twice about whether this, truly, was his decision. “I do, too, but it’s not my place.” His left index finger’s knuckle rubbed the right side of Heather’s chin, in the hopes that it would comfort her. 

Heather pet Paddington’s soft strands of long fur. “Why?”

Paul hesitated, choking out the words “because I’m not your daddy.”

“You’re my friend!”

Heather’s heartfelt words softened the blow. With a half-smile, he said, “you’re my friend, too, Heather. But what Mummy said to you is between you and Mummy. She’s the one who raises you, teaches you right from wrong, takes good care of you, feeds you…that’s what a parent does. That’s what any good mummy does. I don’t do any of those things—I just have fun with you. That’s what friends do.”

“Mommy has fun with me,” Heather objected, sniffling. “She plays with me and reads to me and draws and colors. And she takes me to the playground.”

“Well, yes, you’re right, Heather—a mummy can sometimes be a friend. But a mummy also disciplines. A friend doesn’t do that.”

With tears in her eyes, Heather sighed with a quiver in her voice. “But Mommy makes me feel better just like you do!”

“I’m glad I make you feel better, but…” Paul stalled, unsure of how to finish his thought.

Heather felt her understanding of Paul’s place in her life rapidly crumbling. Confused, she pulled away from Paul. Squeezing Paddington, she sniffled repeatedly.

Paul handed Heather a tissue. “Come ‘ead,” he softly encouraged.

“NO,” she angrily refused. A solitary tear found its way beside her nose and down her cheek.

“Just listen then,” he pleaded. “Imagine if you, me and Angela were all friends. What if you told me a very, very big secret about something. And, you told me this big secret because you trusted me. You made me promise that I would keep the secret and I promised I would. But, then, the next day, when I was playing with you and Angela, Angela said something to me about the big secret you told me. How would you feel?”

“Mad.”

“Why?”

“‘cause I told you my secret and then you told Angela. Angela wasn’t supposed to know the secret.”

“The same goes for you and Mummy. The argument that you had and what Mummy said is between you and Mummy. If you really want Mummy to stop being mad, I think you should talk to her. It’d make you feel better and it’d make her feel better, too.”

Heather squeezed Paddington’s paws, drawing her fingers along the outline of the pads on his feet. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell mummy what you did that you thought was wrong, just like you told me. Speak from your heart.”

 

Heather gently pushed the door to her mother’s room. “Mommy?” she asked.

Linda pushed herself up. “What is it, Heather?”

Standing in the doorway, Heather began “Mommy, I’m sorry that I was bad today. And I’m sorry that I ran away from Paul because Paul is nice. I love you, Mommy. Do you forgive me?”

Linda sneezed a few times, wiping her nose. As she looked at her daughter, she noticed that Paddington had taken Kitty’s place in Heather’s arms. This was her way of letting her mother know how hurt she was. “Thank you, Heather, but I’m still disappointed in you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“But when I apologized to Paul, he said that he wasn’t mad at me any more.”

“It’s different for every person. You saying ‘I’m sorry’ made me not as mad as I was but I’m still disappointed in the way you acted.”

“I don’t want you to be mad.”

“That’ll take time.”

“Will you stop being mad tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” Linda quickly responded. “Is that why you came in here, Heather?”

“No,” she whispered. “You sound mad, Mommy.”

Linda sighed. “I’m not feeling well.”

“I’m sorry. Can I make you feel better? Do you want a hug?”

Linda’s heart softened. “I’d like that but I can’t. I still have fever and I don’t want you to get sick.” A moment of uncomfortable silence lingered. “Do you understand why I got so angry, Heather?”

“I was bad.”

“That’s part of it,” Linda explained, then sneezed again.

“Bless you.”

“Thank you,” Linda said.

Heather stood in the doorway, pivoting on her legs while mindlessly swaying her hips. Why couldn’t Mommy just forgive her? “Can I go with Paul to Macy’s again tomorrow?” she timidly asked.

“No.”

“Please, Mommy?”

“No, Heather.”

“Why not?!”

“Because of what happened today.”

“It’s not fair! You’re never fair!” she yelled before running away. Paul watched Heather deftly escape to her partition.

 

After giving Heather her space, he gracefully entered her bedroom, resting his hand on her back. Crying, Heather looked up to see Paul’s face, wearing a pained smile. Thankful that someone had come to comfort her, she eagerly moved toward him. Paul’s empathetic arms held her, occasionally rubbing her back as she vocalized her frustrations as unintelligible blubbering. His hug had a bittersweet touch. Though he felt guilty that his suggestion had not turned out as he had hoped, at least he could comfort Heather.

“I made your shirt wet.”

“It’ll dry,” he winked. “Have a tissue.”

Heather snatched a tissue from the box resting next to her knee. 

“Why did Mommy make me sad?”

“She didn’t mean to,” promised Paul.

“She did!”

“She didn’t.” He paused then added, “she won’t stay mad forever.”

“You said if I apologized, Mommy wouldn’t be mad!”

Opening the wound of guilt, Paul shook his head ‘no’. “I just said that Mummy would feel better if you apologized. I’m sorry it didn’t go the way you wanted it to, Heather.”

“Mommy’s still mad.”

“She won’t stay mad forever,” Paul repeated.

Heather sat with her head resting against Paul’s right shoulder, thinking about those words as she wiped an emerging tear from her right eye. It sure felt like forever already. “Tell me something happy,” she sadly requested.

Startled, Paul quickly searched his mind. “Anything at all?”

“Yeah.” Heather and Paddington patiently waited as the comfort of Paul’s embrace calmed her. 

Ordinarily, Paul would have pulled out his guitar and sung her a song or made up a story for Heather. On this occasion, however, both of those things would have probably broken her punishment. Paul continued to think until he had a flash of an idea.

“When your Mummy and I were in England, we had a wonderful time. We did all sorts together—we went for walks and drives in the country, your Mummy cooked some delicious food for me, I sung songs to her…I got to know your Mummy a lot better. And, because your Mummy talked about you all the time, I got to know you better, too. She told me lots of things about you but there’s one I remember most. When she was first learning to be a photographer, she sat you down and took pictures of you. Your Mummy said that, because it was so expensive, it could take her a week or two to get through a roll of film. But she could go through a roll of film in an hour or two if she took pictures of you.” Hearing Heather sniffle, Paul stroked her hair. “Your Mummy always smiled when she talked about you, Heather. It was easy to see how much she loves you.”

Just then, Heather sneezed. “Bless you,” Paul said, handing her a tissue. “You sneezed on it, so it must be true. That’s what your mummy taught me.”

Heather let out a little giggle, then blew her nose.

“She’d call you from my bedroom almost every day. I’d go downstairs to give her privacy and, after she was finished, she’d come downstairs. She’d always have a smile and her eyes even sparkled a bit. But, she also looked sad, especially when she’d call right before bed. She said that she missed tucking you in and giving you a goodnight kiss. With each day, I grew to love your Mummy more and more. But your Mummy also started to miss you more and more. After about two weeks, your Mummy told me that she had to leave. She missed you too much. I didn’t want her to go because I’d miss her loads. I loved her. I still do.”

“Do you love me?” Heather asked. With the mercurial emotions she experienced today, she needed reassurance that someone still loved her. 

Leaning down, he placed a kiss atop Heather’s head. “Of course, Heather,” he honestly assured. Paul then felt Heather’s arms squeeze his torso.

“On the plane ride and on the way to the apartment, Mummy kept saying that she couldn’t wait to give you a big hug and kiss. When she came upstairs with you next to her, that was the happiest and proudest I’ve ever seen her. She hadn’t seen you in two and a half weeks but, for her, it was a lifetime. You might not think so right now, but I absolutely promise that your Mummy loves you.”

Heather’s heart grew larger as she mulled over what she never knew about her Mommy’s trip. Paul felt Heather’s body relax and slowly pulled away from him. Contorting her body as she reached under the covers by at the opposite end of the bed, she rescued Kitty. Heather gave him a hug, then set him on her lap. Her fingers carefully ran their way through his fur, wanting to remember its feel. As Heather absorbed Paul’s guarantee, she sat quietly.

At this moment, Paul truly felt like a daddy. _Heather’s_ daddy.


	39. Chapter 39

After dinner, Heather helped Paul clean and dry their cups. When they finished, they sat on the love seat. Heather and Paddington cuddled Paul’s torso.

Linda got out of bed and, standing close to the bedroom door, began to stretch and yawn.

“What’s England like?” Linda heard Heather ask.

“Hmm, difficult question, that. There are lots of cities and towns in England. There’s the countryside and farms and rolling hills and all that. But there are also lots of large cities with lots of people, just like here.”

“Where’d Mommy go in England?”

“London. Mummy stayed there in my house.”

“What’s London like? Do you have eggs? And Central Park? And a playground? And the subway?”

Paul smiled. “Yes, we have eggs. Lots of ‘em. Egg and chips, which is what you call French fries, is one of my favorite meals.”

“Me too!”

“We don’t have a place called Central Park but we do have lots of parks in London. Mummy and I sometimes went for walks in a place called Regents Park. It’s not as large as Central Park, but it’s still quite large.”

Linda’s heart warmed at the memory of she and Paul taking a long, slow walk the first Friday afternoon of her trip. Hand-in-hand, they spent their time getting to know each other better on a personal level; physically, they knew each other well. Throughout the afternoon, they shared a few small kisses, each of which eased her mind as to why Paul asked her to stay with him in London.

“Do they have a playground? Do they have swings and a slide?”

“Yes, they have both. The park has a few playgrounds, I think. Hyde Park has playgrounds, too, but that’s a little further away from where I live. Sometimes, if I want to walk, I take Martha along with me.”

Heather scratched her head with her right hand as she heard the cars honking outside. “Who’s Martha?”

“My puppy. Well, she’s not such a puppy any more, she’s more like a young dog, and a young English sheepdog at that.”

“Is she nice?”

“Martha’s very friendly. She loves everyone, even people who aren’t too keen on dogs. She’ll cuddle your feet or nudge your hand a bit to get some attention. Sometimes, she’ll bring you a toy that she wants you to play with. Martha loves everyone. I know you like cats much better, though. I also have a grey tabby cat named Thisbe.”

Heather furrowed her brow—she had never heard that name. “Th-thi…toby,” she attempted.

Paul smirked at Heather’s attempt (as did Linda). “It’s a difficult one to say. Repeat after me. Thiz.”

Heather sat up. “Thiz.”

“Bee.”

“Bee,” she repeated, intently studying Paul’s mouth.

“Thisbe.”

“Thisbe.”

“Exactly. Very good, that.”

“Why is her name Thisbe?”

“I liked the name. She was named after a funny character in a Shakespeare play, called A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

Heather returned to Paul’s sweater vested chest, putting her hand on his heart. “Is she nice too?”

“She’s nice too. Thisbe usually takes a bit longer to get to know people. She took to your Mummy almost immediately—I’d never seen her like anyone that much. I am sure she will love you, too.”

“Can we take Martha to the park?”

“Sure! I know she’d love that. I don’t often get to do it because I can be quite busy,” he trailed. The joy and relaxation Paul felt slowly became tainted with the instant he thought about the fighting in the studio; it felt like an age since he had spoken to or seen John (though he had seen a picture of him that Linda took). He quickly changed topics “I’m so glad you and Mummy are coming to stay with me, Heather. When I come home, it’s Martha, Thisbe and I. It’s quite lovely to come home to animals that love you unconditionally but…sometimes, you want a person instead,” he sighed. Wrapping his arms around Heather, he continued, “and I haven’t got just one, I’ve got two people who I love very very much. I’m quite lucky.”

“Are you sad?”

“No.”

“Yes you are.” Heather lay against Paul’s chest again, giving him a hug.

Bewildered, Paul awkwardly closed his arms around Heather as he stared past her to nowhere in particular. Heather had inherited her mother’s intuition. Thankful, he sat in silence for a few moments as the comfort percolated through his body.

Linda smiled; despite her immature actions earlier today, Heather was turning into a kind-hearted little girl.

“We’ll go to the park when we’re in London,” Paul assured.

“Promise?” Heather asked looking up at Paul.

“I promise,” he nodded. “What I love about the parks is that they make you feel that you’re not living in the city. You can get lost in your head when you’re there.”

Heather lifted her feet onto the love seat, curling herself into a ball. “Did you and Mommy stare up at the clouds and make believe what they look like?”

“No, we didn’t. Is that something you do with Mummy?”

“Yeah,” answered Heather in passing.

“That sounds like fun. I’d like to do that with you sometime.” Paul felt Heather lean closer to him, almost as if she was using him as a pillow. “I think it’s time for bed, Heather.”

“Ok but I wanna hear more about London,” Heather agreed. “Can you make it my bedtime story?”

“No bedtime story tonight.”

Hearing that, Linda had simultaneous feelings of relief that Paul respected her punishment and sadness that Heather would be disappointed.

Heather frowned, shifting her weight off Paul. “Please, Paul? Mommy always lets me have a bedtime story.”

“Mummy said no bedtime story tonight. I have to listen to what she says, Heather. Tomorrow, when we come home after school, you can ask me all the questions you like about London and England.”

“You said we would go to Macy’s tomorrow,” Heather reminded him.

Paul shook his head ‘no’. “I said that I would talk to Mummy to see if she’d let us go. It’s her decision.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s your Mum. She’s the one who raises you.”

“What if Mommy’s still mad tomorrow?”

“I’m sure she will feel different tomorrow, Heather. Mummy doesn’t want to stay mad.”

Heather smiled.

“Will Mommy be all better tomorrow?”

Paul scratched his beard. “She’ll feel better but I don’t think she will be all better yet.”

“Are you going to shave again soon? Please?” Heather strongly hinted.

“Maybe in a few days, but probably not before we leave.”

“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she whined.

“Because you have to learn. And you’ll get to see Miss D, too!”  
‘But I’ll have to see Tommy, too.’ she dreaded.

“Come ‘ead, Heather. Time to get ready for bed. Go brush your teeth and change into your jim jams.”

Heather did as she was told as Paul supervised. When she did not brush for long enough, he turned it into a follow-the-leader game to ensure she did so properly.

 

“There you go, Heather—all tucked in. Warm enough?”

With Paddington in her arms, Heather nodded her head ‘yes’. She tossed and turned for a moment, trying to find a comfortable position to lay; unlike Kitty, Paddington’s size and curves were unfamiliar to her arms. Heather then remembered the reason she could not lay comfortably.

“Mommy always gives me a hug and kiss to say goodnight.”

Unable to hide his grin, Paul asked “would you like a hug and kiss goodnight?”

“Yes.”

Heather fell into Paul’s arms with ease. On her cheek, Paul placed a small, friendly kiss; sweetly, Heather returned it. Paul then let go but Heather held on.

“I think a good night’s rest’ll do you good, Heather. You’ll feel better tomorrow morning. And, then, I’ll walk with you to school. I’ll even carry you if you want.”

After pulling away from Paul, thoughts and worries swirled through Heather’s head about tomorrow—would Mommy still be mad? Would she be all better? Would Mommy let her go to Macy’s with Paul? Would Tommy tease her? At the thought of that last question, her heart bungeed. 

“Alright?” Paul asked, concerned. Heather stayed silent, looking down at Paddington’s yellow rain cap. “How ‘bout I tuck you in again?”

Heather nodded her head ‘yes’. Paul did the same as he had a few minutes ago, putting the covers over Heather and then watching her struggle to find a comfortable place to sleep on her cot.

“Mommy stays with me until I fall asleep.”

Paul nodded his head ‘yes’. “I remember,” he told her. “I’ll stay here, too.”

“Thank you.”

As Heather lay with Paddington in her arms and Kitty behind her, she made no effort to try to close her eyes.

“Close your eyes.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, she tossed and turned again. Why couldn’t she fall asleep?

Paul could see her eyes were not gently folded over but squinting. “Anything on your mind?”

“No,” Heather lied as she rubbed her cheek against her teddy bear’s fur. Seeing that Heather didn’t want to discuss it, he adjusted her covers. Once again, Heather lay there, tired and uncomfortable, as she fidgeted in positions; nothing felt right. She could not fall asleep. Instinctively, she stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“Heather…”

By his tone of voice, Heather knew she had to take it out of her mouth. Instead, she cuddled Paddington close to her chest. As she guided his hand to her cheek for a kiss, he reminded her he would always keep her company. Stuffed animals never yelled, talked back or got angry; they lovingly listened, closely guarding every secret, and even absorbed tears.

As Paul watched Heather try to lift her spirits, he wished she would tell him what was on her mind. Patiently, Paul waited with her, occasionally stroking her hair, until she fell into a somber slumber.

 

Paul slowly opened his eyes and yawned. To his left lay Linda, who was finally sleeping peacefully. She spent the majority of the beginning of the night coughing and sneezing. Exhausted and sweaty from a night of being kept awake by and worrying about Linda (and, occasionally, Heather), Paul decided to take a shower.

Refreshed and slightly more awake, he and his damp hair went to wake Heather.

“Oof!” he gasped, tripping on Heather lying on the floor outside. “You alright?”

“You kicked my thigh!” she yelled.

Paul put his index finger over his lips. “Sorry,” he meekly apologized. “Did you sleep here?” Heather nodded. “But why? You’ve got your nice comfy bed to sleep in. I tucked you in last night.”

“I wanna make sure Mommy’s ok,” Heather quietly replied as she yawned and cuddled her furry friend.

“Mummy’s alright, Heather. She slept through the night quite peacefully. Is there something that you’re worried about?” 

Heather shook her head ‘no’. “I wanna be close to Mommy.”

“Come off it, the apartment’s not that big, is it?” he chuckled.

“No,” she replied, barely audible. She was hurt by Paul’s off-the-cuff remark. To distract herself, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers over her, holding one of Paddington’s bear paws while cradling him beside her.

Paul grimaced. “What’s wrong?” Heather remained silent. She did not want to go to school.

“Why don’t you get up then?”

She shook her head ‘no’. “I’m not going to school.”

Paul yawned widely, then changed the subject. “I bet you’re hungry, though. You can stay in your jimjams and eat. What would you like?”

Heather shrugged. So long as she did not have to go to school today to be teased, she was not fussed.

“When you think of it, let me know. Let’s get the search party to the kitchen then.” Kindly, Paul asked Heather to be extra quiet so Linda could rest; Heather respectfully obliged.

 

Immediately, Paul opened the refrigerator, pulling out some apples and peanut butter. As he washed the apples, Heather struggled to lift herself onto the counter. Though her sunny disposition toward Paul had dimmed, she allowed him to lift her up and set her down on the counter.

Heather watched intently as Paul cut the apple and spread some peanut butter on it. “Delicious,” Paul commented with his mouth full of apple and sticky peanut butter. “I wish I knew about peanut butter sooner.”

Heather leaned over to reach for an apple slice. Paul smiled. For a minute or so, the kitchen was filled only with the noise of eating.

Heather grabbed another apple and bit into it. She then opened her mouth to ensure that her tooth was still there.

“Is your tooth getting looser?”

Heather nodded—it was getting easier to wiggle.

“Did you want some peanut butter on your apple?”

Heather nodded again.

“Are you feeling better?”

Heather shook her head ‘yes’.

“Why don’t you want to go to school?”

Heather shrugged.

Looking up at the clock, he saw that it was time for Heather to get ready to leave. “Finish your apple and then let’s go brush our teeth.”

Heather scowled.

“At least to make your loose tooth all shiny for the tooth fairy.”

Licking the peanut butter from her lips and teeth, Heather said more words than she had said all morning to Paul. “I don’t wanna go to school. Tommy’s gonna tease me and say mean things to me. Why is he so mean to me? I wasn’t mean to him. It’s not fair!”

Paul bent down to Heather’s eye line, assuring “I don’t know why he’s mean to you, but if he teases you, walk away. If you don’t say anything to him and he can’t say anything back to you. I know that it hurts but that is what you have to do. If you look like it doesn’t bother you, eventually, he will stop.”

Heather shook her head ‘no’. “He keeps saying mean stuff. He’s never gonna stop! He said I looked like a boy because my hair is too short.”

“You don’t, Heather. You’re a beautiful girl with beautiful blond hair, just like Mummy’s.”

“I’m not going to school,” Heather insisted as she tucked Paddington under her right arm. He was the only one on her side.

“Can I go in your place then?”

Heather snorted. “You can’t go to school!”

“Why not?” Paul asked, feigning surprise.

“You’re too old! And you don’t have the right clothes! And you have a beard!”

Paul put his index finger to his lips, reminding Heather to be quiet. “Mummy’s asleep.”

“I know!” Heather angrily shot back.

“Alright,” Paul replied indignantly. “There’s no need to shout about it.”

Heather left the kitchen for the comfort of her bed; Paul followed. To make sure Paul knew she was serious, she wrapped herself in a blanket burrito with Kitty at her side. “I’m not going to school,” she grumbled, looking him straight in the eye.

Paul crouched in front of Heather, feeling his jeans tighten around his knees. He gave a sigh, feeling an ache in his lower back. “You’re braver than you think, you know.”

Heather shook her head ‘no’.

“It’s the truth. Somewhere inside you is a very brave girl. I saw her yesterday at Macy’s apologizing to that woman.”

Curling her thawing toes, Heather reminded Paul “she still got mad and made us leave.”

“But you apologized, even though you were scared.”

“I wasn’t scared!”

“Sorry,” Paul falsely conceded. “Can I try on your uniform?” In the corner of her room, he found a crumpled button-down white shirt. As Paul made silly faces as he struggled to get his left hand past the first third of the long, petite sleeve, Heather struggled to not smile. Finally giving up, he presented the shirt to Heather, telling her “it won’t fit. You give it a go.” Heather tacitly crossed her arms.

“Heather, it’s going to be difficult to even try to convince Mummy to let me take you to Macy’s after school if you don’t go today.”

Heather exhaled through her nose.

“There won’t be any ‘after school’ because you won’t have been there….right?”

Heather conceded to herself that Paul’s reasoning was correct. Disappointedly, she reached for her white button-down shirt.

 

Slowly, Paul opened the door to Linda’s bedroom; after dropping Heather off at school (half an hour late), he aimlessly took a walk to clear his mind. Linda’s eyes met Paul’s, causing him to smile. “And how’s our lovely patient this morning?” he asked.

“Mmm…better, thanks,” Linda mumbled as she rubbed her eyes. “I don’t think I have fever any more. I’m not sweating and I don’t have chills.”

“You look better, love. The color’s already come back to your cheeks and that sparkle in your eyes has, too. I’m glad you finally got some kip last night.”

Linda coughed then yawned. “Thanks Paul,” she said, taking a sip of cold tea in the mug beside her side of the bed. “Did you have much trouble with getting Heather to school this morning?”

“I did,” he said, setting himself on his side of the bed. Paul felt as though he could fall asleep right then.

“Was she ok?” she asked, stretching her back.

“She didn’t want to go to school because of Tommy. It took some convincing but in the end, I think was alright,” he said with a slight sigh, then a large yawn. “I gave her some brekkie—apples and peanut butter. And she let me walk her all the way to the stairs and gave me a quick hug. Last night, though, she wanted lots of hugs. She asked about when you were going to get better…and when she was going to be able to make up with Mummy.”

Linda’s back promptly straightened as her heart slightly slumped—Heather always disliked it when people were mad at her. “

“Are you still worried?”

Paul hesitated. While he knew that he could always tell Linda the truth, he didn’t want to trouble her when she was sick.

“What’re you worried about, Paul?”

Leaning toward Linda, he apologetically said “I just…I want everything to be perfect, Lin.”

“Why?” she asked honestly.

Silence overtook the room again as Paul struggled to find a response. 

“Life isn’t perfect, Paul. All you can do is your best. You…”

“What if I’m not?” he interrupted. As Paul’s heart and body sank back into the mattress, he lit a cigarette in defeat.

“You are. Two weeks ago, Heather was very shy. She barely wanted to talk to you. And, now, she doesn’t want you to leave! Every night, I get to sleep in the same bed with a warm, friendly, funny, caring man who makes me feel loved and special…even when I’m sick! You’re taking care of Heather. You’re making me tea, you bought me a blanket, soup, fudge. Paul…does that sound like someone who isn’t doing their best?”

“No,” Paul replied timidly. Setting his cigarette on the ashtray, he said “but you deserve the best.”

Looking straight in the eye, she declared, “you make me feel loved and you make Heather feel loved. You’re doing more than your best, Paul.”

Paul practically jumped toward Linda, giving her a long, passionate kiss on her lips. Linda’s heart bungee jumped from her throat to her stomach as she made contented, controlled moans. Many seconds later, the kiss gracefully ended.

“Was that the kiss you promised?” she grinned.

“Only half of it,” Paul winked.

“Oh?” she flirted.

Knowingly, they giggled. Paul gave her a smile and then bit his tongue, something that he knew she adored.

“After I get better, you’re going to keep it coming?” Linda winked back.

Paul beamed excitedly and affectionately. Leaning toward his love again, he assuredly whispered “of course, Ms. Eastman.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Mr. McCartney,” she romantically smiled.

“Not now?”

Linda shook her head ‘no’. “I’m too tired right now. I think I’m going to take a shower.”

“Care for some company?” he asked hopefully.

“Next time, Mr. McCartney. Next time.”

 

Wearing his army jacket, jeans and a scruffy beard, Paul hurried to Dalton. The cool, harsh wind blew in his face, often hurting his nose. When he arrived, it was obvious that he was out of place amid a sea of well-dressed, tailored mums, uniformed children and teachers. Spotting the sweet blonde haired little girl that he felt like was his own, he grinned with pride. She was not going to be happy with his answer, though.

Beside him stood a petite, slender, perfectly brunette coiffed woman. He gave her a closed-mouthed smile and friendly nod, to which she scoffed. As her son approached her, she took him by the hand to move him away from Paul.

As the woman kneeled to adjust her son’s jacket, he whined, “Mommy, I wanna say goodbye to Heather.”

“Not with that haggard man there, Jason.”

“Bye, Heather!” he yelled as his mother escorted him through the crowd, toward the school.

“Bye Jason” she waved.

“Hello, Heather!”

“Hi,” she unenthusiastically replied.

“Are you and Jason mates?” Heather gave him a look of confusion. “Friends,” he clarified.

“Yeah,” she bashfully replied. “He sat next to me and we colored today. He’s nice.”

Out the corner of his eye, Paul saw someone pointing in his direction. Turning his head, he saw that it was Jason’s mum, pointing him out to a portly older man wearing a grey suit. Slightly worried, Paul continued his conversation with Heather. 

Pointing to the piece of paper she was holding, he asked “is that what you colored?” Heather nodded. “Can I see it?” Looking at it, Paul smiled proudly “That’s beautiful, Heather! All those flowers and trees. Look, you’ve even put in a pile of leaves. I’ll give it back to you so you can keep it safe. Mummy’ll be proud to hang it on her refrigerator.”

Exhaling deeply, Heather sighed.

“Don’t want to go home, eh?”

Her body suddenly shivering, Heather then shook her head ‘no’. “Mommy said no?”

“Sorry.” Heather frowned at Paul’s response. “Hmm,” Paul mused as he scratched his beard. “Are you still worried about Mummy being angry?”

“Yeah,” replied Heather, who was piling fallen leaves under her feet. “The wind is cold.”

“It is quite cold out today,” Paul agreed. “You can have a snuggle with Kitty when you go home. Paddington, too.”

Taking the back of her right hand, Heather itched her nose. Distracted, her drawing blew away. They quickly both ran after it, seeing it pressed against the tall black gate of the schoolyard. Paul snatched it then handed it back to Heather.

“Here you are. Maybe you best put that in your rucksack to keep it safe while we walk home.” Again, Heather looked at him with confusion. “Your backpack. Let’s put it in there.” While helping her to place it in a spot where it wouldn’t get crushed, out of the corner of his eye, he saw two feet walking in their direction.

“Come with me please, sir,” the portly man authoritatively demanded.

“I don’t understand,” Paul said, looking up at the man’s immovable haircut. “What’s this about?”

“My name is David Hamilton and I’m the headmaster of Dalton. Let’s talk about this in my office, Mister….what’s your last name?”

“Just Paul’s fine.”

“What’d Paul do?” Heather asked.

Adjusting his jacket, he leaned back, showing his gut. “It’s between him and I, young lady.”

Heather would not accept that answer. Why was Paul in trouble? “Me and Paul are gonna walk home,” she declared pulling Paul’s arm.

Ignoring Heather’s remark, David reiterated his instruction to come inside.

“I’m just here to take Heather home, Mr. Hamilton, sir.”

“Inside please. This is not a conversation for the young lady.”

“Don’t get him in trouble!”

“It’s alright, Heather. Come ‘ead then,” he said. “Up up!” Heather’s body, briefly, sailed upward with the aid of Paul. She landed safely, ensconced in his arms.

“What’d you do, Paul?”

“Probably didn’t act like a monkey when I went on the monkey bars while waitin’ for you. That’s a serious offense.”

Heather giggled at Paul’s explanation, “that’s not what happened!”

“It is, you know,” he insisted, seeing David roll his eyes. “He’s probably going to make me go on them twice, doing monkey dances after each time.” Though, externally, he joked, internally, Paul suspected this situation would quickly escalate.

 

When they passed Miss D’s classroom, David opened the door, instructing her to watch Heather while he and Paul talked. He had a sneaking suspicion about the reason for getting called into the headmaster’s office.

“Hi, Paul,” Miss D smiled as she stood up from her desk in her olive green button-up dress.

“Hello Robin,” he politely smiled back. “Nice to see you again.”

“You know him?!” David interrupted.

“Yes, I do,” Robin proudly confirmed. “He’s come with Linda to pick Heather up these past few days. But, lately, he’s been coming by himself.”

Deeply, with his hands in his pockets, David sighed. He could not believe this scruffy homeless-looking man was actually allowed to take care of someone from Dalton. “Why hasn’t Linda continued to pick Heather up?” he testily asked. “She’s her mother. It’s her job.”

“Mommy’s sick.” Wise to the situation at hand, Heather put on a show, hugging Paul and giving him a kiss on his beard. “Paul’s my friend and he’s nice to Mommy, too. Don’t be mean to him.”

Briefly closing his eyes, Paul smiled as his head leaned against Heather’s. While it could quell, it could not fully mask his frustration and increasing resentment at this man who was playing God.

“He’s not allowed to pick Heather up,” David decided. “He’s not her father. I’m calling Linda.”

“Nannies pick up children all the time,” Robin defended. “How is Paul any different?”

David crossed his arms. “He’s…he’s not authorized. He’s a man!”

“Why should his gender matter?”

“Men make the money, women tend to the home. That’s just the way it is. I shouldn’t really even be calling him a man—I should really call him a caveman. He’s not dressed properly at all for uptown Manhattan. Any good mother would make it their business to pick their child up.”

Paul’s clothes grew warm as his eyebrows lowered and lips tightened.

“You’re being mean! Stop it!” interjected Heather. Robin was taken aback at Heather’s courageousness.

“I know your grandfather, young lady. One more outburst and he’ll be hearing about this.”

Hands on her hips, she persisted with her verbal rebuke. “You’re being mean to for no reason! Mommy is sick and me and Paul are taking care of her.” Heather stepped closer to Miss D for support, insisting that she tell Mr. Hamilton about how nice Paul was.

Fumbling, David added to the blaze of insults he had already hurled at Paul. “Coming here looking like that is deplorable. Any man who looks like that can’t be trusted. You’re nothing but an unkempt caretaker.”

David’s words stung. Paul knew if he spoke that no good could come of it. Instead, he pulled Heather close; he needed a hug now more than ever.

“A nanny is a caretaker,” retorted Robin. “Right now, Paul is the one who is taking care of Heather. Can’t you see how upset she is?”

“Stop fighting!” she protested. “I just want Paul to take me home to Mommy!”

Miss D gave her a compassionate wink.

“Come ‘ead,” Paul encouraged, picking Heather up.

“STOP!” David barked. “If you leave, I’ll have you arrested and you’ll spend the night in jail.”

Frightened, Heather gasped. Paul gave her an empathetic squeeze.

“WHY?! Go on then, let’s ‘ave it! What’ve you come up with now, eh?!” Paul sarcastically demanded. ‘I bet this is why Linda doesn’t like this place,’ he thought.

David’s expression and mind were both blank. Awkward silence crept through the crevices of the room.

Robin empathized with Paul; regardless of his job title, his interactions showed how much he cared about Heather and her wellbeing, which was more than she could say of many parents. Judging by Heather’s embrace of the once unfamiliar man from Britain, her feelings, quite obviously, were mutual.

Stepping aside, Robin let David stare at the supposed scruffy excuse of a caveman who was comforting the eternally curious, sweet blonde-haired little girl. Leaning toward him, she nodded her head in their direction, attempting to murmur “would you do that for someone you didn’t know?” David squinted his eyes and, flippantly, scoffed. “Would you defend someone you didn’t know either?”

Paul’s anger quelled, giving Heather a small kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hamilton, sir. Linda’s had the flu,” Paul explained, making direct eye contact with the rude authoritarian. “She found out a few days ago, when she took Heather to the doctor for her check up so I offered to help her take care of Heather while she recovered. That’s why I’ve been picking her up from school.”

Hands on his hips, David quizzed “is this true, Robin?”

Though unsure of Paul and Linda’s arrangements, she decided to add fuel to the fire. “It is,” she agreed. “Paul’s been picking her up and bringing her to school for the past few days. He’s been nothing but responsible, polite and friendly to everyone.”

“The doctor was nice, Miss D, just like Paul. He gave me a sticker and a lollypop!” added Heather as she jumped down from Paul’s arms.

“Paul?” Robin joked.

“The doctor!” Heather giggled.

“Wow! I wish I got a lollypop when I went to the doctor. Which flavor did you get?” Miss D asked, crouching down to Heather’s eyeline.

“Cherry! It’s my favorite.”

“Mine too, Heather. It sounds like you were a good patient.”

“Yeah!” Miss D gave her a big smile, causing her to do the same. Her smile was the prettiest Heather had ever seen. “The doctor told me I have to help take care of Mommy until she gets better. She has to stay in bed and get sleep and take her medicine,” Heather explained as she held her backpack by the straps. “I just want Mr. Hamilton to let me and Paul go home.

“I understand how you feel, Heather—you miss your Mommy and want to take care of her.” Glancing up at David, she added “it is very important that you get home.”

“Come with me to my office, Paul. I’ll have to call Linda. Heather can stay here.”

Paul clenched his jaw. “I wish you wouldn’t,” he said, forcing himself to bite his tongue. “Linda had just fallen asleep when I left her. She’s still recovering.”

“Paul’s my friend, Mr. Hamilton,” Heather said, hoping that he wouldn’t make a phone call to wake Mommy. “He lives with me and Mommy in our apartment and reads me stories and sings and draws and colors. And he plays with me and we eat pizza. He loves me and Mommy a lot.”

David scowled; it was obvious that he had lost the battle with the scruffy Englishman. Sighing, he said, “this matter is closed,” then promptly left with the remainder of his pride.

“Yay!” Heather shouted. “You did it!, Miss D! You did it!”

“Thank you,” Paul nodded to Robin. Paul’s response prompted Heather to do the same.

“I really appreciate all of your help.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a small smile. Seeing that Heather had her hand raised, she chuckled. “We’re not in class, Heather. You don’t have to raise your hand.”

“Miss D, did Paul do anything wrong?”

“No, he didn’t,” she responded, shaking her head.

Heather yawned. “Then why’d Mr. Hamilton get so mad? And why was he so mean about the way he looked?”

Looking at each other, Robin and Paul both knew the exact reason why he was singled-out. Explaining why would not only take ages but was also not appropriate for either of them to do. “Well…” Robin began. A long pause came afterward.

With his hands in his hair, Paul interjected “I think we better save that discussion for another time, Heather. It’s not easy to explain.”

“Please, Paul?”

“Another time, Heather,” he repeated. “Ready to go home to Mummy then?”

 

As they walked through the hallway, Heather’s memory was still shaken by the way Mr. Hamilton spoke to Paul. Glancing up at Paul, who was holding her hand, she asked, “Paul, why’d Mr. Hamilton do that?”

“Not now. Let’s get you home safe.”

“Why?”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Why?”

“Just leave it, alright?!”

Hurt, Heather released her hand from Paul’s.

In an instant, Paul realized what he had done. “I’m sorry, Heather. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Not wanting to look at Paul, Heather turned her back to him with her arms crossed. No one was on her side.

“Treacle?”

“I’m not treacle!” she fiercely hissed.

“Heather,” he began.

In vain, Heather attempted to cover the tear that was streaming down her face.

Desperately searching his pants and tattered army jacket pockets, he hoped to find tissues or napkins that Heather could use.

“Are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

Knowing full well that it was a lie, Paul continued on. “Heather, Mr. Hamilton said some things that really hurt my feelings.”

“You hurt my feelings!”

Frowning with remorse, Paul scratched his beard. Moving closer, he sincerely apologized “I’m sorry, Heather. I got upset because of what happened and I took it out on you. That wasn’t very nice of me.”

Heather’s arms dropped to her sides.

“It’s my fault for not controlling my temper.” Remembering Mr. Hamilton’s crass remark about him being ‘just a caretaker’, Paul nervously sighed, shuddering. “He questioned…” Telling a six year old about judging someone by their appearance was no easy task, nor was it his place. “He hurt my feelings, too, Heather.”

Heather wiped another errant tear away from her right eye with her sleeve.

“I wish I had a tissue for you.”

Heather gulped as she sniffled in. 

Seeing the sign for the girl’s bathroom, a metaphorical light bulb illuminated atop Paul’s head. “One second,” he said.

“You can’t go in there!”

Quickly, Paul went into the bathroom to grab a handful of tissues. When he returned, he offered her one. “It’s alright—I’ve got long hair. Someone might’ve confused me for a girl,” Paul smarted.

Heather softly giggled as she blew her nose. “But you’ve got a beard!”

“You got me there,” he conceded.

Her nose clear, she then went to throw her tissue in the trash. Shuffling her way back, her eyes grew heavy as she thanked Paul for the tissues.

“You’re welcome,” he quietly replied.

“Did Mr. Hamilton really hurt your feelings?”

“Yeah…” Paul trailed.

“How?”

“Well, he said some things about me that weren’t very nice. And he said some things about mummy that also weren’t so nice, too.”

“Remember, a few days ago, we talked about the difference between being a friend and being a daddy? This is the same sort of thing, Heather. I’m not your daddy but I care about you as much as I would if I was.”

Heather gave a half-smile. “Do you really mean it?”

“I really do.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Paul smiled.

“Can I go home and take a nap? I’m sleepy.”

“Sure. Want me to carry you then?” Heather raised her arms to aid Paul with picking her up. As they walked, Heather watched the city go by, remarking how different everything looked when she was tall.


End file.
